


Season Ticket On A One Way Ride

by Darksilvercat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Ensemble Cast, Episode Related, F/M, M/M, Minor Character Death, Supernatural Alternate Season 5, Supernatural and J2 Big Bang Challenge 2010
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-21
Updated: 2012-08-21
Packaged: 2017-11-12 14:21:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 43,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darksilvercat/pseuds/Darksilvercat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Castiel breaks Dean out of the green room in 4.22, he breaks Anna out of prison. With two angels on Team Free Will, the apocalypse takes a different course. Some things change, some things stay the same, and the world is going to Hell in a handbasket, but in the midst of it all, Dean finds a way to hold his family together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to LiveJournal on July 21st 2010. Beta'd by bindaroonie. Additional thanks to spacefragments and mrstotten for their help and support.
> 
> All the awesome art for this fic was created by [attempt_unique](http://attempt-unique.livejournal.com/35755.html). Please go and leave a comment for her!
> 
> Some characters (not Dean, Sam, or Castiel) die in this fic. If you want to know who, go to the end notes of the final chapter.

  


“He’s coming.”

Under any other circumstance Dean would feel stupid for the way he’s hanging onto Sam, grasping at his brother’s arm and getting a handful of Sam’s jacket instead. His other hand is planted firmly on Sam’s chest, not holding him back, no reason to be holding him back; only Sam’s voice had something like awe in it just then, so maybe he is holding him back a little. Sam looks almost like he wants to throw himself into that hole, into Hell itself, and Dean is definitely not okay with that. Still owes Sam an ass-kicking and a lifetime supply of ‘I told you so’, so there’s no way he’s letting Sam fall on his sword just yet.

Apparently Lucifer doesn’t give a crap what Dean Winchester wants though, because the ground is quaking, the walls are rattling and light is flooding the room. Dean could almost believe it was an archangel descending on them if not for the fact that there’s a damn gateway to Hell not six feet away from them.

A flood of memories assaults him, blood and fire and screaming. His, theirs, it doesn’t make a difference, it all rolls into one unstoppable nightmare. Dean stands frozen, wanting to run but completely unable. All he can think is _this is it_ , and he doesn’t know what to do, how to fight this, because he _failed_. Failed Sam, failed the entire fucking _world_.

So he holds onto Sam and he stands on the brink, and he fucking _prays_ , as Lucifer claws his way into the world.

The light grows painfully, blindingly bright and Dean screws his eyes shut; he hears the familiar whine of an angel’s true voice and clamps his hands over his ears even though he knows it won’t block out the sound. But then the sound resolves into a voice, a whisper in his mind, and for a moment Dean thinks he can actually hear Lucifer, until he understands what’s being said.

_Run, Dean. Go, do it **now**!_

As though a spell has been broken, he finds himself able to move. He’s still half-blind, but he’s no longer frozen in place, and they have got to get out of here right the fuck now.

He tugs Sam’s sleeve a little harder, shouts over the rattling to _move, dammit_ , and Sam finally catches on. They race for the door as the light flares at their backs, make it through and keep going, running down the corridor with the fucking devil himself at their heels. The light expands outwards faster than they can run, and Dean doesn’t want to think about what will happen if they’re caught in it, even contemplates diving clear through the window rather than bothering with the stairs, but he has no idea how high they are.

One moment of hesitation is all it takes for him to stumble. Sam trips over him, and then they’re both on their knees, hands over their ears and eyes screwed tight shut with Lucifer at their backs.

A deafening crack splits the air as the floor beneath them begins to rupture, the walls splitting apart, the whole fucking building coming down around them as he and Sam cower on the ground like fucking children. A roar like a jet plane taking off echoes over the ringing in their ears, and Dean thinks _this is it_.......

Before everything stops.

If this is death, it’s a lot less painful than the last time.

He opens his eyes cautiously, peels his hands away from his ears, feeling the sticky trail of blood between his fingers. The first thing he registers is that he’s kneeling in about three inches of thick, glutinous mud; the second thing, that Sam is still right beside him, blinking up at him in silent surprise.

The third thing he sees is Anna, standing about four feet in front of him with her arms folded, a stern glare fixed on Sam and him.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?” she greets them abruptly, as Dean forces himself back to his feet. He can only stare at her in shock, so she glances behind them, and when he follows her look he sees the convent - or at least he assumes it’s the convent - is now little more than a heap of rubble. It looks as though a bomb went off; Lilith, Ruby, all those demons, they’re just corpses in the wreckage now.

“Anna,” he gasps out, shaking his head against the ringing in his ears. He can feel the wet, sticky sensation of blood running down his neck, and his hands are caked in blood and dirt. “How did you find us?”

“I didn’t,” she replies brusquely, and then some of the sternness leaves her gaze, replaced with what looks worryingly like fear as she stares at the convent. “I found _him_. Lucifer. I felt him rising.” Her gaze snaps back to Dean. “We all did.”

Guilt settles on Dean like a lead weight. “I couldn’t stop it,” he rasps. “I tried.”

“You did the best you could,” Anna agrees, though the words ring hollow. “Where’s Castiel?”

_Shit. Cas._

“He, uh, he’s at Chuck’s. We went to Chuck to find out where Lilith was going to be, and Cas stayed behind to hold off the archangel.”

Anna’s eyes widen, and there’s that fear again. Dean remembers Cas describing archangels to him - _Heaven’s most terrifying weapon_ \- and feels his own fear rise a notch. There is no way Castiel could win a fight against an archangel. But that hadn’t been the plan right? Maybe Cas had intended to use his angel-be-gone blood spells to keep the archangel from even getting to him.

He starts to say as much to Anna but she’s closed her eyes. “I can’t feel him,” she says softly.

“Maybe he’s hiding?” Dean suggests hopefully. Anna doesn’t reply, but the doubt in her eyes is obvious.

  


“Anna,” Sam says, and Anna whirls on him, her eyes flashing angelic fury.

“Don’t,” she snaps. “You screwed up.” She looks back at Dean. “You _both_ screwed up, big time.”

“I know,” Sam says, his voice breaking, and Dean hates that it can still hurt him to see his brother like this. “Just tell us what to do. How can we fix this?”

“You don’t just ‘fix’ the Apocalypse,” Anna states angrily. “It’s the _end of the world_ , Sam.” She raises her hands, and Sam flinches as though he thinks she might punch him, but she simply rests her hands on their shoulders, and in the space of a heartbeat they find themselves back at Bobby’s house.

“Stay here,” she says. “Don’t try to leave, don’t try to contact anyone, and don’t do anything stupid. I’ll be back.” 

Dean’s expecting her to vanish on the spot, but before she does, her hand slips from his shoulder to his chest and _presses_ , and a sharp pain sears through him. She does the same to Sam, and they both gasp and cringe as she watches them, only the slightest flicker of sympathy in her eyes.

“What was that?” Sam asks.

“An Enochian sigil. It’ll hide you from angels. All angels, including me, so _stay here_ ,” she repeats.

Dean wants to ask more questions, ask where she’s going, what happens next, what are they gonna _do_ , but Anna is gone, leaving only the echo of wing beats to show that she was ever there at all.

“Where the hell have you been?” Bobby demands. Dean hadn’t seen him come in from the kitchen, but he’s there now, standing warily in the doorway as if afraid they’re going to disappear again at any second.

Dean almost wishes they were. Because staying here, answering Bobby’s questions, that’s going to make this real. And he’s not sure he can handle that right now.

“Long story,” he says instead, and Bobby glares at him but doesn’t press. He centres his gaze on Sam instead.

“You planning on running off again?” he asks bluntly. Sam flinches.

“Bobby, no. I’m.... I’m sorry. About, you know-”

“Forget it,” Bobby cuts him off. “You’re looking better at any rate. Take it that means you got what you went out for.”

Sam flinches again, but he doesn’t make any effort to deny it, and Dean doesn’t miss the pained look in Bobby’s eyes when he realises he’s right.

“Dammit, Sam.”

“I know,” Sam says miserably.

There’s a moment of awkward silence where no-one wants to be the first to say it. In the end, Sam saves them all the trouble; he draws himself up, sets his shoulders squarely and heads for the basement.

Dean and Bobby trail silently behind him, and Sam walks right into the panic room and sits himself down with a quiet air of resolve. Dean reaches for the door, and Sam looks up sharply.

“Dean. Ruby, she said I’d burned myself out on Lilith. But, I don’t know if... just don’t let me out, okay? Not until we’re sure.”

Dean doesn’t know if he’ll ever be sure, but he doesn’t say that. He starts to slide the door shut as Sam adds: “And Dean? I’m sorry. I’m really, so, _so_ -”

The door clanks shut.

Dean closes his eyes and sucks in a deep breath, willing himself to keep his shit together. He turns to face Bobby, who waits patiently, arms folded, expression troubled.

“You gonna tell me what happened now?” he asks with surprising gentleness.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure. But first, I need a drink.”

*****

Bobby doesn’t throw them out, to Dean’s eternal amazement. He doesn’t even raise his voice. They drink their way through a fifth of whiskey as Dean talks, tells him all about how the angels have thoroughly screwed them over and how Anna and Cas are apparently the only decent ones left. About Sam and Ruby, and about Lilith being the final seal and Lucifer being free. Bobby takes it all in, and when Dean is done he doesn’t try to console him, but he doesn’t bitch him out either. Instead he reaches for his books, and the two of them settle in.

Dean keeps reading until the words are blurring on the page and the buzz of alcohol is turning into the low, insistent throb of a headache, at which point Bobby sends him upstairs to bunk down in one of the guest rooms for the night.

He all but sleepwalks his way to bed, collapsing fully clothed on top of the sheets.

  


Castiel waits for death.

When Raphael’s light becomes blinding to mortal eyes, he turns calmly to the prophet that waits beside him and says: “You may wish to be somewhere... else.”

Chuck nods nervously, but he doesn’t leave.

Castiel is almost grateful.

There is no escaping the wrath of an archangel. Castiel could not fly away now even if he wanted to, Raphael has tethered him to this place, and it seems strangely ignominious to die by his brother’s hand in the kitchen of an alcoholic prophet, but it is far too late for second thoughts now. He will die, here, for Dean.

He just hopes his death will be enough.

When Raphael finally arrives, the resultant shockwave shatters every glass item in Chuck’s house and knocks both him and Chuck off their feet. He pushes Chuck beneath the kitchen table; Raphael will not pause to spare him - if Chuck were to die alongside Castiel the angels will only bring him back anyway - and he doesn’t want the man to have to witness what the most powerful beings in Heaven can do to those who cross them.

 _Castiel_ , Raphael says, his thunderous voice flooded with rage.

“I’m here,” he calls defiantly, and then Raphael is on him.

Raphael thrusts one incandescent hand into Castiel’s chest, and the pain that rips through him is worse than any he has ever known. It feels like being torn apart, flayed alive and shattered. His grace fractures beneath the force of Raphael’s attack and Jimmy’s skin burns, barely able to contain him. It is _death_ , and Castiel is praying for it to be over soon, when through the searing pain he senses it.

A spark of recognition in his tormented grace.

Raphael senses it too - how could he not? - and for a split second his attack on Castiel ceases as he turns every one of his eyes towards Ilchester, Maryland.

“ _Lucifer_ ,” Raphael breathes.

Castiel falls to the floor weakened, broken, the acid sting of failure hurting almost as much as the aftermath of Raphael’s attack. “No. No, _Dean_.” He realises he’s speaking aloud, but Raphael is not listening. He has failed, Dean has failed, and Anna may be with them now, but she cannot stand alone between the Winchesters and the combined might of Heaven and Hell. This war is only just beginning, and Dean is going to need him yet.

He gathers every last shred of strength and presses one palm flat against his own chest, searing a sigil into his ribs and into his Grace with a single thought. Raphael begins to turn back to him, but he has been distracted for just a moment too long.

Castiel takes flight, hurling himself as far from Raphael as he can. Raphael throws out a hand to tether him again, and the spell grazes his wings but he slips through, and then he’s gone, safe, _alive_.

Barely.

He lands on his knees, sways, and falls to the ground, somewhere on the plains of Africa. Darkness clouds his vision, and he slips away.

  


*****

Castiel comes back to himself a short while later. The dull burn of his grace has eased slightly, enough that he can gather his senses and focus them in search of Dean. He comes up blank, and the rush of fear is surprisingly sharp, Jimmy’s soul pushed too deep to fully mute it. For a moment he is seized by an irrational sense of panic, but he sets it firmly aside and casts out with his mind instead of his sight.

After a moment he comes up against Dean’s subconscious mind, lost in a troubled sleep. There is no physical presence to accompany it, and it is both disconcerting and reassuring at once. Anna must have found him and hidden him, and for that much at least, he can be thankful.

It takes barely more than a thought for him to slide into Dean’s dream. 

Dean is dreaming of the Apocalypse, of fire and blood and four horsemen, and Castiel is almost amused by this imagined scenario. It will not be so overt, he knows, although he supposes that knowledge will do little to ease Dean’s troubled thoughts. 

Dean’s dream self is standing on an impossible hilltop, watching the city of Detroit burn. Castiel steps up beside him.

“Dean.”

Dean turns.

“Cas? Is that- are you really you?”

“I can’t find you,” he says.

“We’re at Bobby’s,” Dean says at once, “Cas, are you okay?”

Castiel has no idea how to answer that, so he doesn’t, choosing instead to step out of the dream and gather his energy, before hurling himself into space once more.

*****

As it turns out, he’s not okay, and he doesn’t so much arrive at Bobby’s as crash-land. The noise brings Bobby and Dean running, which is fortunate, because he appears to be lacking the strength to even stand up. Dean rushes forward to grab his arm, and he passes out again to the sound of Dean calling his name.

He wakes, some hours later, to find himself in a bed. Dean is sleeping in an armchair beside him. A brief check reveals that Bobby is downstairs making phone calls and Sam - the protection sigil on his ribs doing nothing to mask the sound of his troubled sleep - is in the panic room.

He ignores the brief twinge of guilt at that discovery, and turns his senses inwards. Jimmy rests, blissfully oblivious to their brush with death, his body already healed of the internal damage caused by Raphael’s attack. Castiel’s own form is still recovering, his grace burning jagged and bright, but it is bearable at least, and Anna will be able to assist in the healing when she returns.

Dean stirs in the armchair, and Castiel slides off the bed, unwilling, for some unfathomable reason, for Dean to see him weakened for any longer than he already has.

“Hey,” Dean rasps when he wakes. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Good. I know I said some things are worth dying for, but you do realise I meant only as a last resort, right?”

His smile is tentative, but Castiel can’t bring himself to return it. The truth is, he thinks dying may have been easier than living with his rebellion. Already he can feel a cold emptiness inside, and his grace no longer feels infinite as it once had. He is alive, yes, but he is cut off from Heaven. 

From home.

There is no going back now. He knows the penalty for rebellion, knows that he cannot return until this war is won, perhaps not even then, and that hurts far more than the damage done by Raphael ever could.

He doesn’t know if he’s made the right choice, but he is committed to it now and he will see it through to the bitter end. 

Dean’s smile falters, and he opens his mouth to say something else, but a whisper of awareness echoes across Castiel’s mind and a second later Bobby lets out an impressive stream of curses as Anna appears.

Castiel shifts himself downstairs immediately, not missing the flicker of hurt in Dean’s gaze, but thoroughly ignoring the pang of guilt he feels in response.

Anna greets him with surprising warmth, all things considered. He is glad to see her too, of course, though he had been afraid she would still hold some resentment for allowing her to be captured. But she makes no mention of recent events, not even when Dean descends to join them, and he is silently grateful for that. He’ll tell Dean, he will, but not just yet. Right now they have more pressing concerns.

Lucifer, Anna reports, has found a vessel, and the four horsemen are preparing to ride.

There will be time for talk later. Right now, they have a war to fight.

Dean has no idea where to even start.

  


Fortunately, or unfortunately as the case may be, Lucifer doesn’t waste any time in getting things started. Just a few short days after his release, Bobby receives a frantic phone call from Rufus, and he and Dean end up hauling ass to River Pass, Colorado. Castiel meets them there, while Anna watches over Sam.

Dean isn’t exactly an Edwin Starr fan, but when they figure out that War is in town, he can’t resist a ‘what is it good for?’ quip. Castiel just looks at him blankly, and he wishes Sam was there to make one of his huffy ‘you’re-not-taking-this-seriously-enough’ faces. 

Once they’ve figured out what they’re up against, taking War out proves to be relatively easy. It’s Bobby that catches on to the ring trickery, and Castiel who determines that separating the horseman from his ring should be an effective strategy - and Dean forgets sometimes how military Castiel can be. But Dean is the one who cuts the ring off, along with several fingers that shrivel into dried-out husks after War vanishes. 

The fleeting optimism of the victory is swiftly killed when they return to learn that Lucifer has been gatecrashing Sam’s dreams.

“I’m not going to do it. Not now, not fucking _ever_ ,” Sam swears adamantly, and Dean almost believes him, but he can’t quite ignore the treacherous little whisper of doubt in the back of his mind.

There’s not much they can do except keep Sam as far from Lucifer as possible, and since Anna has given him a clean bill of health as far as the demon blood in his system is concerned, they release him from his voluntary imprisonment. 

That night, Zachariah approaches Dean in a dream and tells him to say ‘yes’ to Michael. Dean tells Zachariah to go fuck himself.

  


Castiel leaves to track down the remaining three horsemen. Anna leaves in search of a way to kill Lucifer.

Dean, Sam and Bobby head to a town in Oklahoma that has been suffering hail and fire and assorted other omens from Revelation that all amount to one hell of a demonic party. Dean can’t help fearing the worst from Sam, he can see how much his brother is struggling with the temptation, but Sam pulls through. 

They put the demons down with extreme prejudice, then move on to Canton, Ohio, where they find a pagan god so obnoxious it makes Dean wish for the Trickster.

*****

Anna informs them that Zachariah has located and killed the Antichrist. Dean doesn’t understand the sorrow in her eyes as she tells them, but he doesn’t ask, doesn’t want to know.

*****

Bobby leaves them to chase up a lead on the remaining Horsemen, and Dean and Sam continue onto Wellington, Ohio. When they run into the Trickster again, Dean wishes for any pagan god but him.

*****

When it turns out the Trickster is in fact the archangel Gabriel, Dean just swears off supernatural beings altogether.

*****

They hear a news report of a hotel full of ‘Supernatural’ fans that was utterly destroyed. The few survivors have all had their eyes burned out. Anna tracks down Chuck, who miserably informs her that the ‘convention’ had been disrupted by ghosts.

Raphael had torn the place apart.

  


*****

They learn, too late, of Lucifer’s presence in Carthage.

  


Six months after the Apocalypse begins, Lucifer appears in Dean’s dream.

The dream is one that Dean is pretty sure Castiel created and inserted into his brain like some kind of stock footage; he’d never dreamt of fishing by a lakeside before Castiel spent a night sitting beside his hospital bed after Alastair and Uriel were killed. And while it’s not exactly his _dream_ dream - that one involves strippers, body shots, and the back seat of his baby - it’s oddly peaceful.

Or at least it is until someone that is definitely _not_ Castiel steps up beside him and says: “Hello, Dean.” He doesn’t recognise the voice, doesn’t know the man at all, but his skin crawls and his gut twists and he _knows_ who this is.

  


He’s on his feet in the space of a heartbeat, still clutching his fishing rod and debating the merits of just stabbing Lucifer with it now, because he’s sure as hell not gonna have an opportunity like this again. He’s fairly certain that Lucifer can’t hurt him in his dreams, and he’s already hefting the pole, feeling the weight of it and preparing to drive it forward, when the damn thing burns white-hot in his hand. He drops it instantly, bringing his hand up to his mouth, only to realise that there are no burn marks.

“You humans always were rude,” Lucifer sighs.

“You wanna talk rude, here’s a tip: walking into someone else’s dream, _that’s_ rude.”

Lucifer almost manages to look contrite, but not so much that he has any qualms about sitting himself in Dean’s chair.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “but this is the only way we can talk.”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna talk to you,” Dean mutters, searching, rather futilely, for a way out of the dream. Simply willing himself to wake up isn’t working, and for all that dreams are supposed to be exactly what you want, Dean can’t seem to dream up a knife, or a gun, or a fucking A-bomb, no matter how hard he tries.

Lucifer simply watches him silently until Dean gives up and turns back to face him.

“Okay, what the fuck do you want?”

“I wanted to offer my support,” Lucifer replies.

Dean blinks.

“What?”

“I wanted to offer-”

“Yeah, I heard you, I just don’t believe you.”

Lucifer smiles.

“Why wouldn’t I support you, Dean? Every time you refuse Michael, you make my job that much easier.” 

Lucifer’s tone remains pleasant, no hint of scorn or mocking, but Dean gets it anyway. Alastair had played headgames with him for forty years; Lucifer is going to have to try a lot harder if he wants to screw with Dean.

“I thought the whole point of all this was the showdown between you two?”

“I’m in no hurry to face my brother,” Lucifer replies. “Michael’s endgame may be to kill me-” and Dean could swear he sees a flicker of genuine distress there, but it’s gone before he can be sure- “but mine is nothing so petty.”

“Who are you trying to kid? This entire mess is nothing _but_ petty. It’s you and Michael fighting for Daddy’s attention.”

For a brief moment, unrestrained anger flickers across Lucifer’s face. He takes a step forward and Dean can’t help but flinch back as Lucifer says: “Listen to me you-”

And then he stops. Pulls back his anger and settles back into indifference.

“ _Humans_ ,” he says, shaking his head. “So arrogant. I find it infuriating that we should have to bind ourselves into such weak forms just to walk this earth.” He fixes Dean with a disdainful glare. “You should be on your knees giving thanks that you are Michael’s chosen vessel, unworthy as you are.”

“I thought you didn’t want me saying ‘yes’,” Dean replies, going for flippant and arriving somewhat closer to terrified.

“Oh, I don’t. You’re no threat to me like this,” Lucifer says. He narrows his eyes at Dean. “But you really think you can stop me, don’t you?” He sounds utterly unimpressed. “This can’t be stopped, Dean.”

Dean is about to reply with something typically defiant when he catches a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye, a flash of tan trench coat through the trees, and then Castiel is standing at the end of the dock. His gaze flickers briefly over Dean, then fixes on Lucifer, and he starts forward, moving warily. 

Dean tries not to give Castiel away, but Lucifer must see something in his face because he glances round to see Castiel approaching. Castiel hesitates for barely a second before drawing up to his full height, and facing Lucifer, his face an expressionless mask.

“Hello, brother,” Lucifer says with a dangerous smile, turning his full attention to Castiel. “Castiel, isn’t it? I’m sorry, we’re kind of in the middle of something here. Run along now, little brother, I’ll deal with you soon enough.”

“You’re not welcome here,” Castiel says. “Leave.”

Dean is impressed with the amount of authority Castiel manages to put into his tone.

“No,” Lucifer replies. 

“I won’t ask again,” Castiel growls, and Dean shivers, forcefully reminded of the time when Castiel had used that tone on him, threatening to throw him back into Hell. 

Lucifer scowls. “You’d better not,” he says, and his tone remains casual, but it still manages to be every bit as intimidating as Castiel’s. He holds Castiel’s gaze, challenging him, daring Castiel to do something.

He’s as surprised as any of them when Castiel actually does. 

Castiel steps forward, seizes Lucifer by the front of his shirt and _pushes_. Dean doesn’t even have time to process what he’s seeing before both Castiel and Lucifer vanish in a blinding flash of light, and Dean awakes abruptly.

*****

Castiel is not in the room when Dean awakes, and that alone is enough to put him on red alert. 

“Cas!” he yells, knowing it’s pointless but feeling better for it, and Sam wakes up immediately, jerking upright with a knife in his hand.

“What’s up?” he demands, and Dean is already out of bed, phone in hand and dialling.

“Lucifer was in my dream – shit, come on, Cas, answer your phone! - Cas threw him out and I don’t- I don’t know if-”

“Okay, okay,” Sam says, trying to sound soothing and failing miserably as he reaches for his own phone and calls Anna.

Castiel’s phone clicks over to voicemail.

“Dammit!”

*****

Sharing Dean’s dream-space with Lucifer is no danger to Castiel. Neither, technically, is throwing Lucifer out.

The danger comes seconds later, in the blink of a moment when Castiel is not fully contained within his vessel, his consciousness stretched between his physical form and Dean’s mind, and it is like a beacon to anyone who may be looking.

Lucifer, of course, is looking.

Castiel snaps back into his physical form at the same instant that Lucifer arrives in the street he had been standing in, and so Castiel does something he has never done before in all his long years of existence. He hides. 

“Castiel,” Lucifer calls, sounding as righteous and wrathful as any archangel ever has, and Castiel shrinks back into the doorway he barely had time to duck into before Lucifer appeared. “Don’t be a coward, Castiel. Come out and face me, brother.”

Castiel doesn’t really have a choice. He can’t escape, not with Lucifer so close; he’ll be tethered before he ever has a chance to take wing. But he can’t hide forever, Lucifer will tear this street apart to find him, and there is nowhere to go, nothing he can do but stand and face this as he did with Raphael.

It occurs to him then, that Lucifer is not the only angel looking for him. 

The idea that forms in his mind at that thought is quite possibly the worst idea he’s ever had.

Castiel reaches inside, to where Jimmy sleeps, peaceful and unaware. Safe. He reaches down, and he forces the man to wake.

_Castiel? What’s going on?_

Jimmy must be able to sense something of Castiel’s thoughts, because his own thoughts turn hollow and sour as he thinks: _This is it, isn’t it? We’re about to die._

 _I hope not_ , Castiel responds. _Whatever happens, don’t move. Stay here, stay safe. If I don’t return to you, find the Winchesters, tell them what happened. Tell Dean... something._

_Wait, what are you-_

Castiel makes his move.

He leaves Jimmy, and faces Lucifer in his true form. It will do little to balance the odds, even with Lucifer contained within his own decaying vessel, but like this he is stronger, _faster_. He may be able to protect himself from Lucifer for just long enough.

Lucifer smiles when he sees him. 

“Look at you. Dean Winchester’s attack dog. Tell me, brother, is he really worth it?”

_Yes._

“Why?”

Castiel doesn’t have an answer for that. He wishes he did, but every time he thinks he’s found one it slips away from him. Because he has faith in Dean, this impossible, infuriating man who has defied him and rallied against Heaven and sworn to help people when they have given him no reason to. Because Dean _cares_ , and he has made Castiel care, though he doesn’t know how or why.

“Hmm,” Lucifer says, head tilted slightly to one side, and Castiel realises he is reading his mind. “You know, falling in love, is still just Falling in the end.”

Castiel hesitates, distracted for a moment. He doesn’t love Dean Winchester. Lucifer is mistaken, but Lucifer is not known for making mistakes-

He barely notices Lucifer’s movement, and it’s pure luck that he manages to avoid the hand that snatches at him.

“Falling for a human, really, Castiel,” Lucifer presses, but Castiel realises now that this is a distraction, that Lucifer is simply trying to throw him off. “What exactly are you going to do with yourself? Even if you win this war, you will never be able to go home, and humans are hardly faithful creatures. Dean will dismiss you when he is done with you.” His tone turns soft, cajoling. “But I won’t. You’re not like them, not yet. You and I, we’re a lot alike. And we have a common enemy. It’s Heaven that’s at fault here, not us.”

Castiel doesn’t disagree. But he cannot support Lucifer’s solution any more than he could support Uriel, because for all their words, for all that their arguments are logical in a way, he cannot betray Dean.

 _I’ll die first_.

Lucifer’s face falls.

“I suppose you will,” he says, and he sounds almost regretful.

Castiel tenses, prepares himself, and Lucifer attacks.

Castiel dodges the first attack, narrowly avoids the second, expending as much energy as he dares. He is light and power and grace, a beacon so bright that no angel could possibly fail to take notice. The ground shakes, glass shatters and he can feel it, can feel _them_ , coming for him.

Lucifer throws out a hand and tethers him in place. Too soon. _Too soon_. His brothers and sisters are coming, but Lucifer already has him, and he draws his sword, raises it to strike, and all Castiel can think is _not now. Not like this_.

He sees the movement that Lucifer misses, sees Jimmy dart out from his hiding place, and can only watch, helplessly, as Lucifer’s blade flashes down.

_No!_

The blade sinks deep into Jimmy’s chest.

  


Lucifer doesn’t so much as blink, tossing Jimmy carelessly aside and preparing for another blow, but too late. The world around them shifts, and angels appear, reaching for Castiel, and Lucifer reacts instinctively, turning on them, his sword flashing out yet again.

In the ensuing confusion, Castiel slams back into Jimmy and hurls them both away.

*****

He flies for several hours, stopping and starting, backtracking and crossing his own trail in order to throw off any would-be pursuers. He can sense them tracking him, chasing him across continents, and he can feel Jimmy’s soul fading, but he can’t afford to stop. 

Even if he could, Jimmy is beyond his power to save.

 _S’okay_ , he murmurs, barely an echo in his own body now. _Had to be done. Never wanted this, but I get it. I’m no good in a fight, can’t... couldn’t be any use to them. But you promised me, you promised..._

 _No harm will come to them_ , Castiel says.

 _You better keep it_. 

_I will_.

_Don’t take Claire. When I go, don’t you dare. Keep this body. You can do that, right? Can you?_

Castiel doesn’t know. The rules for taking a vessel are absolute, and they are there for a reason. He supposes having Jimmy’s ongoing consent may be enough, but angels are not _meant_ to have their own forms. Only Anna has successfully restored and inhabited a previous form, but that was hers to begin with, and she has paid the price for binding herself to her vessel.

In truth, Castiel is afraid. To have a physical form that is his, and his alone, is both a temptation and a threat he is not sure he can handle. But he is cut off from Heaven, and his only other option, Claire, is no option at all. 

_I will_ , he repeats.

 _Good_ , Jimmy sighs, and Castiel wraps his grace around Jimmy’s fading soul and renders him unconscious one last time, offering him dreams of his wife and daughter to carry him into death.

  


Dean has left several frantic voicemails on his phone, and Castiel feels oddly touched by the display of concern for his wellbeing. He doesn’t bother returning the calls, simply transports himself to the motel address Dean had reeled off in one of the messages, to find Dean and Sam holding an urgent conference with Anna.

Anna senses him first, turning to him with a relieved smile.

“Cas!” Dean and Sam say in unison, both making abortive moves towards him. Sam catches himself first and sits back down, but Dean is on his feet and halfway across the room before he stops.

“Are you okay?” he demands.

“Jimmy is dead.”

For a moment, he hates the look of confusion that flickers across the faces of the other three, with an intensity that surprises him. He may not have shown much regard for Jimmy himself, but everything Castiel has done for them has been made possible through Jimmy’s sacrifice. The hate and anger turns rapidly inward, dissolving into a crushing sense of guilt. And then - because this isn’t right, he’s not supposed to _feel_ to this extent - fear washes over him, strong enough to stop him dead in his tracks. 

“What...” he begins, and then Anna is stepping forward, deliberately demanding his attention.

“What happened?” she asks.

He explains in fits and starts, and the others listen, Anna with a growing look of sympathy, Sam of concern, and Dean of outright awe. It’s Dean’s expression that he focuses on, Dean’s respect and appreciation that acts as some small consolation as he repeats his final promises to Jimmy.

  


“So it’s just a party of one in there now?” Dean asks.

“I’m alone, yes. This body is mine for all intents and purposes,” Castiel replies.

“Sucks to be a vessel,” Dean says.

They lapse into a contemplative silence at that. The shadow of Michael and Lucifer weighs heavy on them all.

“We need to make sure this doesn’t happen again,” Anna says after a moment.

“I’m all for that. But how?” Dean asks.

“I could modify the sigil on your ribs to guard your minds as well as your physical locations,” Castiel offers. 

“You can do that?”

“Yes.”

“Well why the hell didn’t you do that at first?”

Anna looks faintly embarrassed. “It didn’t occur to me,” she admits. “I was kind of in a hurry. I did the best I could under the circumstances.”

“It’s easily fixed,” Castiel says, and he leans forward, laying a hand against Dean’s chest. 

“Uh, you might want to make an exception for us,” Anna says.

“Of course,” Castiel says, and presses forward. Dean grimaces slightly as he re-writes the sigil on Dean’s ribs.

“Jeez, warn a guy,” Dean grumbles. Castiel ignores him in favour of reaching over and doing the same for Sam, who tolerates it only marginally better than his brother.

“So what now?” Dean asks once Castiel has finished.

“We keep searching,” Anna says. “I may have a lead on the Colt, and Bobby thinks he’s getting close to the location of Famine. We just have to keep fighting.”

Her words ring hollow in the silence, and it occurs to Castiel for the first time that everyone is losing faith. Even Anna seems less sure of herself than she had all those months ago when she had approached Castiel with fire in her eyes to take him to task for giving in to Heaven’s will. Sam looks doubtful, and he doesn’t even need to look at Dean to sense the uncertainty in him.

“Right,” Dean says, “of course.”

No-one gives voice to their doubts.

*****

They finally catch up to Famine in a small town just outside Kansas City. Anna provides them all with Enochian warding charms to prevent Famine’s influence from gaining a hold on them. They turn out to be less effective than planned, but in spite of some intense cravings, it is a relatively straightforward matter for Castiel and Anna to tackle his demonic retinue while Sam and Dean separate Famine from his ring. 

They celebrate that night with beer and bad 50’s horror films. Anna turns out to be surprisingly good at riffing the movies, and Dean teases Sam endlessly when what Dean declares to be an appallingly cliché scare causes Sam to jump and spill beer on himself. 

Castiel watches them all with something approaching affection. He knows the brothers still have a way to go, but they’re far more at ease with each other than they have been in some time. Anna joins in effortlessly, making jokes and references that Castiel has no understanding of, and he tries, but he is never quite as at ease with them as they are with each other.

Halfway through the third movie, he goes outside to keep watch.

It bothers him, more than it should, that nobody asks him to stay.


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character deaths in this chapter. See end note for details.

For all that the world is apparently ending, there really aren’t many overt signs. Sure, the omens are there, for those who know to look for them, but in the grand scheme of things, little has changed. There are still angry spirits to put down, demons to exorcise, and if they occasionally run up against something more biblical than the usual evil fare, well, it’s still just killing monsters in the end.

It’s all pretty much business as usual, until the day Ellen calls to tell them that demons have laid siege to the Roadhouse.

  


They don’t bother to make a plan. Plans take time, and there are far too many things that can go wrong with them anyway. Ellen and Jo need help, and from the sound of the fighting Dean could hear down the phone line, they need it _now_.

Anna points out that it’s probably a trap, but she doesn’t try to dissuade them from going.

They pull a hasty selection of weaponry from the trunk of the Impala; shotguns and knives - no need for rock salt or holy water, Ellen will have plenty of that in stock - and Castiel and Anna transport them to the Roadhouse.

It’s a fucking warzone.

The building itself is little different from the original Roadhouse, but this one is brick where the other had been wooden, and Dean can tell from the scorch marks around the windows that the demons have had less luck at trying to burn this one down. The doors and windows have been barricaded and the hunters that had been inside when the attack began stand watch - or sit watch in the case of Rufus, who has one leg bound in a hastily made dressing.

Ellen is behind the bar, pouring out shots single-handed, her other hand wrapped tight around a shotgun. She doesn’t bat an eyelid when the Winchesters just appear out of nowhere. The other hunters are a little more jumpy, and one almost shoots Castiel, but Rufus stops him.

“They stopped about ten minutes ago, but we know they’re still out there,” Ellen says, all business. “No casualties so far, except Rufus, but he’s a tough old sonofabitch so he’ll live.” She pauses for a moment and looks up, smiling dryly. “It’s good to see you boys.”

“We put Devil’s traps all round the perimeter after what happened with the old place, so we knew they were coming,” Jo reports as she emerges from the back room with what looks like a crate of beer, but turns out to be holy water. “And hey guys. Who’s your friend?”

Sam introduces Anna, while Dean joins Rufus at his window to get a look at the ground outside. They’re out in the middle of nowhere, and Rufus points out where the demons have been coming from.

“Every time we drive them back, they come back stronger,” he tells Dean. “They’re after something, but I got no idea what.”

“They’re after us,” Dean says.

“Always knew you boys would be trouble,” Rufus grumbles, but he makes no other comment. He may be an ornery old bastard, but they’re still on the same side.

Anna disappears to scout outside, and Dean rejoins Castiel, Sam and the Harvelles to confer.

“We can’t get out of here,” is the first thing Castiel says. “There’s a one-way lock on the area.”

“What, angels check in, they don’t check out?” Ellen asks sceptically.

“We’re going to have to fight our way out,” Sam says.

“Anyone got any ideas on that front?” Dean asks.

“All the cars out front have been trashed,” Jo says.

“This place is pretty remote,” Ellen adds. “There’s nothing around for miles. Our only shot is taking down every one of those sonsofbitches.”

“The tether can’t be too big,” Castiel says. “We’ll probably only have to go a mile or two before Anna and I will be able to move freely.”

“Alright, so we’ll do that,” Dean says with a confidence he doesn’t really feel. “What do we have by way of weapons?”

“Enough salt to de-ice every road from here to LA, holy water on tap, shotguns loaded up with rock salt,” Ellen reels off.

“Plus Ruby’s knife, Cas, and Anna,” Sam adds.

“We’ve got exorcisms on tape too,” Jo puts in. “Heard about that trick you pulled a while back and figured it’d be good to have to hand.” She grins. “I’ve got an entire exorcism playlist on my ipod.”

“Nice,” Sam says, and he actually looks impressed.

Castiel, on the other hand, only looks frustrated. While Jo and Ellen take Sam to sort through the weaponry, Dean pulls Castiel aside. 

“What’s up?” Dean asks.

“I’m bound to this body now,” Castiel says, “and Anna to hers. We’d be stronger in our true forms.”

“You’d also burn out everyone’s eyes and make their brains dribble out their ears,” Dean points out. “Just do what you can.”

Castiel glares at him, but Dean doesn’t have time to wonder at the look, because Rufus cocks his shotgun and calls out: “They’re coming!”

There’s no time after that to do anything but shoot and reload, shoot and reload, for almost three hours before the demons fall back. A hunter goes down, gut-shot and screaming, and Ellen tries desperately to hold him together while Jo holds tightly to the dying man’s hand and keeps up a steady stream of comforting talk. Dean looks away from the scene to see Castiel watching from the other side of the room, a look of consternation on his face.

The hunter dies in Jo’s arms.

*****

There’s a brief respite after that, time enough for them to reconstruct some of the barricades across the windows and doors. Castiel and Anna flit back and forth outside, retracing some of the broken devil’s traps and laying down protections of their own. Dean tries not to worry too much about them being so exposed, but the hunters inside are covering them while he and Rufus work at rigging up a PA system to hook Jo’s ipod to.

“This isn’t gonna do much more than hold ‘em back for a while,” Rufus mutters.

“I know. We’ll think of something,” Dean replies.

“Like what? They’re just gonna keep coming, and we can hold out here for a while, but sooner or later either they’ll get in, or we’ll run out of ammunition. Face it, Dean, it’s gonna take a fucking miracle to get us out of here in one piece. At this rate we may as well just blow the place sky high and hope we take a few of those bastards with us.”

“I’m not really a big fan of miracles,” Dean replies, distractedly, but the word sparks an idea in him that takes a moment to pin down. “Unless...”

“Unless what?” Rufus demands, but Dean is already climbing down from the bar stool he had been using to hang a speaker, and heading for the door to call Castiel and Ann inside.

The two angels appear at his side a split second later, and Sam joins them.

“We need to contact Bobby,” Dean says.

“How? The phones are down,” Sam asks.

“You guys can get into his dreams, right? Pass a message along?”

“If he’s sleeping, sure,” Anna replies. “The wards holding us here are physical, we can still take a head trip.”

“So do it. And tell him to find Chuck.”

“Whoa, what?” Sam demands.

“You heard me. We can’t take all these demons on our own. But if Bobby can find Chuck and bring him here, his archangel-”

“Raphael,” Castiel interjects.

“-Raphael will have to show up to protect him like he did with that hotel. It’ll be like bringing a laser-guided missile down on these sonsofbitches.”

“Yeah, it will,” Anna says. “And on us too. Are you crazy?” 

“Maybe,” Dean grins. “But if Raphael comes, what are the odds of their binding spells being able to hold him?”

“Impossible. He’ll break them wide open,” Castiel replies. He’s trying to look disapproving of Dean’s plan, but Dean can see the slight twitch of his lips that says he likes where this is going. “It could work,” Castiel continues. “It’s dangerous, but it could work.”

“So let’s do it.”

*****

The only flaw in Dean’s plan, is that it hinges on Bobby being asleep. Four hours and three attacks later, he’s beginning to wonder if the guy is part Terminator or something, because every time he glances at Castiel he shakes his head to indicate, _not yet_.

It’s almost dawn, and they’re putting together more rock salt rounds in the brief calm, when Sam finally hisses: “Dean!” and points at Castiel.

Cas has gone stock still, his eyes closed, head tilted slightly back, and when Dean glances over at Anna she nods to indicate that Cas is doing whatever the hell it is angels actually do to get into another person’s head.

A moment later, Castiel opens his eyes and nods at Dean. 

“It’s done,” he says.

The relief Dean feels is swallowed in a roar of gunfire as the demons unleash yet another attack.

*****

It takes Bobby the better part of a day to find Chuck and get to the Roadhouse. By the time he arrives, Chuck is falling down drunk, and no-one can get a coherent word out of him.

“Showed up on my doorstep about twenty minutes after your message got through,” Bobby informs them all. “Guess he’d seen it coming.” He looks pretty grim. “Guess he saw something else coming too, judging by the way he started drinking the minute I got him in the car.”

It’s not exactly encouraging, and neither is the total lack of archangel. It’s been quiet for almost an hour, and Dean guesses Raphael won’t bother showing up until the demons actually attack. He contemplates shoving Chuck out into the parking lot as bait, but figures no demon could actually be stupid enough to fall for it, and besides, they need everyone, human, angel, archangel and demon alike, to be in the building for this to work.

The other hunters fall back from their posts to gather in the middle of the room. Chuck is propped up against the bar to one side, looking thoroughly miserable, and Anna and Castiel flank the surviving humans, ready to transport them the moment Raphael descends. At a nod from Dean, the angels remove the salt lines and traps that surround the building, and then they wait.

It doesn’t take long. The back door creaks open first, and they hear footsteps approach. There’s a crash in the basement as more break through the back hatch, and then the front door bursts inwards, and yet more demons stride in. 

Jo’s voice is still repeating exorcism after exorcism over the speakers, but none of the remaining demons are affected by it. They’re all locked into their meatsuits, circling into the room and surrounding the humans gathered in the middle.

“Now!” Dean whispers, and Anna and Castiel replace the salt and traps they had lifted.

One of the demons steps forward, a vicious smirk playing across its stolen features as it approaches.

“Well this is an interesting turn,” it remarks.

“Wait, it gets better,” Dean replies.

Chuck staggers to his feet.

“M th’prophet, Chuck,” he declares into the expectant silence.

The lead demon turns its head slowly, fixing Chuck with a sceptical stare.

“What was that?”

“He said, he’s the prophet, Chuck,” Sam says with a smirk.

The windows begin to rattle, and the setting sun suddenly seems a great deal brighter.

“And that,” Sam adds, over the rising noise, “is his archangel.”

The demons’ eyes widen almost comically, and then they hurl themselves forwards, screaming in rage.

“Whenever you’re ready!” Dean yells at Castiel and Anna as he empties his shotgun into the face of an oncoming demon.

“Not yet!” Anna yells back, hurling another clear across the room. Castiel knocks out a third with a punch powerful enough to shatter bone, and a trio of hunters take out a fourth all at once. Sam ducks one and stabs another, Jo clubs one with the butt of her shotgun and Rufus empties holy water on yet another, but one slips past them all, and Dean sees a flash of steel, hears someone scream, and then there’s a sudden, sharp tug in his chest, and the Roadhouse vanishes before his eyes just as the flood of light threatens to blind them all.

*****

When he opens his eyes again, he’s standing in Bobby’s living room, surrounded by a stunned and weary crowd of hunters. For a moment no one even moves, and then Jo screams “Mom!” and everyone is jarred into motion.

Ellen is lying in the midst of the group, her hands pressed against her abdomen, and a crimson stain spreading between her fingers.

The bottom drops out of Dean’s stomach.

“No, no, nononono, _Mom_ ,” Jo cries, dropping to her knees and pressing her hands over Ellen’s. Rufus pulls off his button-up and kneels beside her, gently prying both sets of hands away to press the fabric over the wound. Dean only gets a split second glimpse, but it’s enough to tell him everything.

Ellen is dying.

Jo is in tears, begging and pleading, crushing one of Ellen’s hands between both of her own as Rufus works. Bobby is already halfway down the hall in search of a first aid kit, and the other hunters fall back to give them space as Ellen tries to squeeze Jo’s hand and offers an unsteady smile.

“Now, Joanna Beth, don’t you go falling apart on me,” she says. 

“Mom, please,” Jo whispers, her voice cracked and broken.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, it’s okay,” Ellen murmurs, her breathing growing shaky. “You boys take care of her,” she continues, glaring up at the hunters that surround them all, and Dean has no idea who she’s addressing but it doesn’t matter, because all of them nod and murmur promises in reply. Ellen reaches one trembling hand up to Jo’s cheek, smearing blood across her face.

“You take care of yourself,” she continues, and Jo nods, choking on a sob.

Bobby reappears, kit in hand, but Ellen waves him back.

“No point fussing with that,” she says. Anna steps forward instead and kneels beside Jo, laying a gentle hand on Ellen’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs.

Ellen shudders, and her breathing eases for a moment as Anna’s hand squeezes her shoulder. Dean can only assume she’s doing something to ease the pain, because Ellen’s next words come out easier.

“Jo. Honey. I will always love you.”

Jo tries to smile through her tears, squeezes her mother’s hand and presses her lips to it.

Ellen closes her eyes, and a moment later, her breathing stops.

Jo lets out an anguished scream, and the other hunters, all but Rufus, retreat quietly, leaving her to grieve in peace.

*****

Dean finds Chuck out in the scrap yard.

“You knew this was going to happen,” he accuses.

Chuck nods, staring bleakly up at Dean.

“I dreamed-” he begins, and Dean grabs him by the collar and slams him hard against the rusty metal frame of an old pickup truck.

“And you didn’t think to warn us?” he demands.

“I couldn’t!” Chuck cries. “You’re lucky I even got away long enough to reach Bobby. The angels watch me, Dean, all the time. The only reason they’re not watching me right now is because Castiel and Anna have this place locked down. Last time I tried to contact you - before Carthage - they locked me in that stupid room until it was too late. I called you once to tell you that I’d seen Famine, and they _took my voice_. I’m sorry, Dean, there was nothing I could do.”

Dean lets out a shaky breath and forces himself to relax his grip on Chuck’s jacket.

“So they can’t see you right now?”

“I don’t think so,” Chuck says. He offers a half-hearted smile. “Cas and Anna, they’ve had a lot of practice hiding. As far as I can tell, this is probably the safest place on Earth.”

“Huh. Well.”

They never actually talk about it, but Chuck sleeps in one of the spare rooms that night.

He doesn’t leave.

*****

They cremate Ellen in a simple funeral out near the edge of Bobby’s property. Anna takes Jo to bury her ashes beside Bill Harvelle’s, and when they return, Jo has a duffel bag slung over her shoulder and a trunkful of weapons and supplies.

Jo moves into the other spare room.

Rufus sets up shop in Bobby’s front room, Castiel and Anna manage to procure a couple of caravans for the surviving hunters, and just like that, Singer Salvage Yard becomes the hunter’s headquarters for the apocalypse.

  


After the Roadhouse siege, Heaven and Hell kick things up a notch.

It’s as though both sides have suddenly hit the fast forward button on the apocalypse. One minute the hunters are still chasing signs and omens and occasionally coming up against a hotspot, the next, the signs and omens are being broadcast for the whole damn world to see.

They start splitting into teams. Sam, Jo and Anna take a couple of hunters to dispatch a town full of zombies, and return with yet more hunters in tow. Some Dean has met before, others he’s never heard of, but they all set up camp in Bobby’s yard and get straight to work. They’re building an arsenal, holy water, holy oil, rock salt rounds, iron and silver and blood-soaked wooden stakes; every hunter has offered every resource they have. Anna and Castiel brand each of them with the same rib carving they gave to Dean and Sam; Bobby and Rufus corner any hunter with a command of ancient Hebrew, Latin or Aramaic to help with their research. The rest of them throw themselves into hunting with a vengeance, hitting up every contact in their collective phone books for leads, tackling demons, spirits, shapeshifters and vampires alike with a single-minded fury.

Dean has always known that hunting is a dangerous business, but he’s starting to think that maybe hunters are the most dangerous thing about it.

It feels good to be fighting back.

Chuck’s visions are a godsend, in every sense of the word, putting them on the tail of apocalyptic players before they even make their move. The Whore of Babylon and Pestilence are taken out in quick succession, and for just a little while, it seems like they might actually win.

Only Castiel maintains a quiet reserve. He’s the first to point out the flaws in any plans they make, the quickest to caution. Since the loss of Jimmy, Dean has noticed Castiel’s temper flaring up increasingly often - and he hadn’t even realised Castiel _had_ a temper, but it occurs to him when Castiel snaps at Rufus over a goddamn Biblical translation that the angel has become more and more animated in dealing with others. He’s become prone to fits of melancholy too, sometimes retreating to some far corner of Bobby’s scrap yard to sit for hours in quiet contemplation. 

Dean wishes he knew what was going on in Castiel’s head. He catches himself watching Castiel sometimes, or following him outside, always meaning to say something but not knowing where to begin. Castiel never says anything in those situations either, but he stares back at Dean, all silent and intense like Dean is a puzzle he’s trying to figure out, or, well. Suffice to say, on anyone else, that look would have Dean wondering how long it would be before the other person was offering to buy him a drink and inviting him back to their place.

Which leads him to wonder if Castiel has ever invited anyone back to his place, or his cloud, or whatever. Anna had implied that angels didn’t really get down with the whole sex thing, but maybe that was just human sex. Maybe angel sex was different. For all Dean knows, Castiel could be some kind of heavenly stud, although it seems more likely he’d be the awkward nerdy guy who stands in the corner and blushes furiously whenever someone hot approaches him.

It’s usually around this point that Dean realises Castiel is still silently studying him, and quickly shuts down his train of thought before Castiel decides to take a look inside Dean’s head. 

Still. It’s disquieting to realise how little he really knows about Castiel.

He speaks to Anna about it one day. Tries to frame it like a casual observation, pointing out that Castiel has been acting a little temperamental lately.

“That’s because he’s _feeling_ more temperamental these days,” Anna says.

Dean gives her a blank look, and she shrugs her shoulders delicately.

“The need for consent to take a human vessel is more than just good manners,” she tells him. “What we actually need is the soul itself. A human soul acts as a buffer of sorts. It prevents us from truly feeling, even if we take physical form. Obviously it’s not perfect, but it’s enough to prevent a repeat of what happened with the Grigori.”

“The who now?” Dean asks.

“Fallen angels,” Sam says from his seat across the room. Dean isn’t remotely surprised that he’s been eavesdropping. “It’s said that they lusted after humans and Fell to be with them. Is that right?”

Anna nods. 

“Essentially, yes. When we first walked this earth, bodies were created for us. Some of our brothers and sisters became too fond of earthly pleasures, and chose to forsake Heaven and bind themselves to their physical forms.”

“What about you?” Sam asks. 

“I’ve had practice,” Anna smiles.

  


Dean knows that good things never last. It’s the first thing he remembers learning, and so he can’t help but deliver a good mental kicking to himself when things finally go wrong, and none of them are ready for it.

It’s Chuck that causes it, though it’s hardly his fault. It hadn’t occurred to any of them that his visions could possibly pose a threat, so when he informs them that the Colt will turn up in Detroit, none of them think twice about going to retrieve it.

None of them think twice about where - or who - the vision comes from.

Dean, Sam, Anna, Castiel, Jo, and a pair of hunters named Martin and Simon head out almost as soon as Chuck has finished filling them in. It’s a thirteen hour drive, but they manage it in ten.

Lucifer is waiting for them when they arrive.

*****

They run, but the city is teeming with demons, hellhounds, and - to their horror - humans infected with the Croatoan virus. Sam guesses that Detroit is going to be ground zero for the virus, and they have to get _out_ , but they can’t afford to leave without taking care of things. Lucifer has the entire city locked down so Anna and Castiel can’t transport them out, and the hellhounds on their tail mean they have to keep moving.

Martin doesn’t move fast enough, and they have no choice but to leave him to the jaws of the hounds. 

The rest of them hole up in an abandoned hotel laying rock salt at every entrance they can find. It’s enough to keep out the demons and the hounds, but if the infected find them they’ll be utterly screwed. They need back-up. Or better yet, they need an _army_.

It’s Anna who points out they can actually get one.

Dean is absolutely and wholeheartedly against the idea of summoning the angels, but Sam argues that it’s their only chance, and he’s right.

They climb to the roof of the hotel, and Castiel wipes the carvings from their ribs.

The combined might of Heaven and Hell converges on their location.

*****

Dean will never be certain of what happened after they made their presence known. He remembers Zachariah, Lucifer and any number of angels and demons appearing around them. He remembers them squaring off, remembers Castiel furtively drawing them aside as Lucifer circled Zachariah, and the bastard had looked smugly certain that Dean was going to say ‘yes’ and Michael would come and kick Lucifer’s ass, right up to the point where Lucifer had buried his blade in Zachariah’s face.

He remembers war breaking out on a hotel rooftop in downtown Detroit. Remembers blood and light and the baying of hellhounds, and then Anna screaming at them, at Castiel, and Castiel seizing his shoulder, pulling him back alongside the others, and then-

\- and then, nothing.

At first he assumes Castiel has pulled them back to Bobby’s, but from the look of shock on Castiel’s face and the absence of Anna, he realises that she sent them back. Castiel makes an abortive move forward, and then he _curses_ , and Dean is so stunned by it that he can only watch as Castiel turns frantically on the spot and shouts Anna’s name.

“Cas,” he says, hesitantly, reaching towards the guy, but Castiel brushes him off and mutters a rapid stream of Enochian, then vanishes.

Dean is left to stare helplessly at Sam, who shrugs uncertainly. There’s nothing they can do but wait.

*****

 _Anna hides any trace of the Winchesters’ disappearance when she banishes them back to Sioux Falls, sending Castiel along with them because they can’t afford to both die here._

_She has no illusions that she will survive this. Someone had to stay and shield their escape, and Lucifer’s wrath cannot be escaped. He doesn’t even consider her a sister anymore, she is sure of that much; becoming human is something he could never understand, much less forgive._

_He turns toward her as the battle continues around them, and she stands her ground as he advances on her._

_She doesn’t want to die._

_But she is ready. She’s been ready for a long time, a lifetime really, ever since she faced Uriel and Castiel across a nondescript barn and told them she was done running._

_Lucifer walks right up to her and he doesn’t speak, just lays a hand on her shoulder. She swings, strikes, and draws a fierce satisfaction from seeing the blade of her sword flay open his left cheek. His other hand slides the tip of his own sword up between her ribs, straight into her heart._

_He holds her, with surprising gentleness, as the blade does its work, and her last thought is of Castiel and the Winchesters. They will find a way. She knows they will._

_She has faith._

  


*****

When Castiel returns an hour later, his expression is empty, his eyes hollow.

“They killed her,” he informs them, then turns on his heel and leaves the house, the door slamming shut behind him.

Jo buries her face in her hands, and Sam moves to pull her into a hug, glancing over her shoulder at Dean with a stricken look on his face. Bobby and Rufus sit in sombre silence, and Dean sinks into a chair, staring blankly ahead.

The news is spread quickly among the rest of the hunters, and a melancholy hush falls over the house. Chuck apologises over and over for sending them into a trap, until Dean threatens to punch him out, and then he drinks himself to sleep.

*****

Castiel is furious.

He knows it’s irrational, knows that he cannot blame Anna for doing what she did, but he is angry nevertheless. It’s strange, he had expected grief when he realised she was gone, perhaps regret or guilt as he’d felt with Jimmy, but not this helpless, directionless rage. 

He remembers Uriel, after Dean and Sam had helped Anna escape them all those months ago - _I’m going to go kill something_ \- and wonders if it helped.

He is not used to feeling so much. Since Jimmy died, it has grown steadily worse, and he doesn’t know if it’s his own doing, if he’s subconsciously allowing himself to feel more intensely now that Jimmy has gone, or if it’s simply a side effect of being so tightly bound to this human form.

Either way, he doesn’t like it. He’s worked hard to keep it all in check, but there’s nothing he can do right now, no way of holding back, so he leaves Bobby’s house and heads out to the furthest edge of the scrap yard. He wants to go further, wants to take flight and leave everything behind, but Anna is gone and he has to stay, has to keep watch because she can’t protect them anymore.

When Dean seeks him out, he tells himself he can’t be held responsible for the way his anger latches onto the man.

“Cas?” Dean’s voice is tentative, filled with sympathy and regret, and Castiel has no time for either of those things.

“What, Dean?” he snaps. “What is it this time? You’re sorry? ‘If there’s anything worth dying for’?” Dean flinches, but doesn’t say anything as Castiel throws his own words back at him. “Or are you just here because there’s something else you need from me?”

“I’m-” Dean begins, and Castiel finds that he doesn’t want to hear whatever meaningless consolation Dean has to offer.

“Don’t,” he says, harshly.

Dean does anyway.

“I’m sorry. I know-”

Castiel whirls on him.

“You know nothing,” he hisses. “Lucifer killed eighteen of my brothers and sisters today. You may not care about angels, Dean, but they are still my family, and I have killed them, and stood aside while others killed them, and for what?”

He’s not blaming Dean, he’s _not_. It isn’t Dean’s fault that he’s falling - _but it is_ \- or that angels are dying. It’s not anyone’s fault but Michael and Lucifer and those of his brothers who conspired to make it happen, but Castiel is not facing any of them, and so he channels his anger at the one person he _can_ face.

Dean throws his hands up, his own temper sparking in the face of Castiel’s fury.

“Well I’m sorry. Next time we can all stay and get ourselves killed,” he snaps.

Castiel has seized Dean before he even registers moving, and Dean’s eyes widen in shock as he shoves the man back, barely remembering to temper his grip so that it will only bruise and not crush bone.

One of Dean’s hands clamps around his left wrist, the other comes up to brace against Castiel’s chest in an utterly futile attempt to push him back.

“Fuck, Cas, back off,” he growls. “Look, I get it, you’re pissed. I am too. But none of this is my fault. Anna made her choice and so did you when you decided to rebel in the first place.”

“I’m beginning to think that was a mistake.”

He’s lying. Mostly. But Dean’s eyes narrow and he pushes harder against Castiel.

“If it was a mistake then why the hell did you do it in the first place?” he demands. “Come on, Cas, why are you even here, huh? What’s in all this for you?”

Dean’s words remind him of Lucifer - _Is he really worth it? Why?_ \- and Castiel still cannot answer that one simple question, so he does the first thing that comes into his head instead.

He kisses Dean. 

It’s clumsy and strange and new, and for a moment everything just _stops_. The anger, the confusion, the grief and regret, it all just drains away as he seals his mouth over Dean’s and _kisses him_. For one brief moment, Dean is shocked into stillness, until it sinks in for both of them, and then Castiel is pulling himself back even as Dean pushes against him once more.

“Cas, what the hell?” Dean gasps, and they stare at each other for a moment, suspended in time, neither knowing how to continue.

Then it all comes crashing back, every feeling tenfold, and Castiel can’t face Dean for a second longer. 

Lucifer was right. Castiel didn’t rebel for anything so simple as friendship. He didn’t rebel for his friendship with Uriel, nor Anna, and it wasn’t friendship with Dean that pushed him into action.

He _wants_ , and he has no idea what that means for him, if it means anything at all. 

He tells himself he’s not running away, but he is.

  


Dean returns to the house, his thoughts in turmoil. The strangest thing is, he’s really not as surprised as he thinks he should be. Castiel has always been absolutely focused on Dean, and looking back, everything he has ever done, every rule he has ever broken, has been at Dean’s request.

Dean is pretty sure he’s never strung Castiel along, and he’s equally sure Castiel would never have said anything, never have done anything if Dean hadn’t pushed him in the one moment his guard was down. But it’s out there now, and Dean has no idea what to do about it.

He wishes Castiel hadn’t run, but a tiny part of him can’t help but feel relieved. And that makes him feel like the world’s biggest bastard, but the last thing he needs right now is to be questioning their relationship and wondering if Castiel wants anything more from him. So, yeah, he kinda hopes he won’t want to pursue the issue when he comes back. Surely Castiel can understand that now is really not the time for awkward talks about their feelings, and he must know that Dean isn’t interested anyway. Because he’s not; he’s never even thought about it before.

He’s not going to start thinking about it now.

He returns to find Sam and Jo sharing a bottle of whiskey in miserable silence. Sam raises the bottle towards Dean in an invitation to join them, but Dean shakes his head and continues through to where Bobby and Rufus are bent over a desk, sticking pins haphazardly across a map.

“What’s the latest?” he asks.

“Death,” Rufus says, and Dean has no idea if he means the Horseman, or just more death in general.

“Let me know if you get anything,” he says anyway.

“You’ll be the first,” Bobby promises absently. Neither he nor Rufus seem all that invested in their work tonight, expressions blank and gazes hollow as they study the map, and Dean tries not to notice the giant, red pin in Detroit.

It occurs to Dean that he’s somehow become the leader of this little band of misfits without anyone really discussing or voting on it. He’s not sure he likes the responsibility. But he’s already the only one standing between Michael and a battle royale that will wipe out half the planet. Why not add a little more weight to his shoulders?

Exhaustion crashes into him with no warning, and Bobby looks up at him just in time to see him sway on his feet and stifle a yawn.

“Get yourself to bed, son,” he says gently, and Dean nods in weary assent.

He dreams of Anna and her last night as a human, the night they spent together. He’d never thought to pursue anything with her, but he is grateful for what she offered him that night. But when her hand closes over the handprint on his shoulder like it had that night, the scene changes back to his old nightmares of Hell. Only there’s still a hand on his shoulder, and when he looks up it’s Castiel holding him tight, raising him from the Pit, drawing him into his arms.

  


The apocalypse rumbles on, and the world is beginning to take notice.

Half of downtown Detroit had been reduced to rubble during the clash of Lucifer’s and Zachariah’s forces. The papers report it as a tragic accident, a series of explosions caused by gas leaks. Conspiracy theorists label it terrorism or a failed military experiment, but religious radicals are beginning to cry apocalypse, and to the collective amazement of the hunters, people are beginning to listen.

Castiel tentatively reports that all those infected with the Croatoan virus had died in the onslaught. It’s hardly a permanent fix, but it gives them room to prepare for the next time Lucifer attempts to unleash the virus.

Castiel makes his reports to Bobby and Rufus, not Dean, and Dean pretends not to notice that Castiel is avoiding him.

He also doesn’t notice the way Castiel’s suit is more rumpled than usual, or how Castiel’s skin seems paler and his eyes darker. But he does ask Chuck to keep an eye on him.

*****

Chuck takes his mission very seriously. He even enlists the help of Sam and Jo, because he hasn’t the faintest clue how to counsel an angel. Fortunately Castiel doesn’t seem to want counselling. He accepts Chuck’s offer of alcohol though, which leads to a rather bizarre evening of Castiel drinking Chuck, Sam and Jo under the table.

Dean finds them nursing coffee and hangovers the next morning, and he probably thinks he’s being subtle when he asks how Castiel is doing, but Chuck knows better.

*****

More hunters begin arriving at Singer Salvage Yard. Some tag along after running into a hunting party, but others are starting to show up without any prompting. Some even bring their own caravans. Bobby and Dean spend a busy afternoon towing junked cars into the field behind the yard to make more room for the newcomers.

*****

One week after Detroit, the first angel approaches them.

“We need to talk,” she tells Dean in his dream, every bit as sharp and businesslike as her vessel looks.

Dean stabs her in the face, because it’s his dream, and he can.

*****

The angel returns the next night.

“My name is Amitiel,” she says. “I knew Anna.”

This time, Dean banishes her with a blood spell. But he remembers the name, and asks Castiel about her the next day when Castiel shows them how to check and repair the protection sigils around Bobby’s.

“Amitiel is a member of my old garrison,” Castiel says. “With Zachariah gone, she’ll be in command.”

“How the hell is she getting into my dreams?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel admits with a troubled frown. “If Lucifer can’t do it, she shouldn’t be able to.”

“Maybe you should ask her,” Sam suggests. “Or at least see what she has to say.”

*****

“We want to join you,” Amitiel says, the next night.

“We?”

“The garrison. Others. Zachariah is gone and Heaven is in disarray. Michael is nowhere to be found and Raphael... Lucifer killed him four days ago.”

“Well, small mercies,” says Dean flippantly. “Sorry you’re getting your asses handed to you. Guess jump-starting the apocalypse wasn’t such a great idea after all, huh?”

“We didn’t know. None of us knew what Zachariah was planning,” she replies.

“And then you found out and decided to just go along with it for eight freakin’ months before you changed your mind?”

Amitiel doesn’t flinch.

“Better late than never,” she says.

Dean stabs her again.

*****

The next night, Amitiel brings someone else along.

“You have _got_ to be kidding,” Dean says when he sees Gabriel lounging on an armchair in Bobby’s front room.

“Hey, I tried sending a neutral party and you wouldn’t listen,” Gabriel replies. Amitiel pointedly smoothes her hands down over the crisp white blouse that Dean had stabbed through.

“You know I thought we’d fixed it specifically so that douches like you can’t get into my head,” Dean grumbles.

“And Castiel did an excellent job. He always was good with sigils. Michael and Lucifer prefer the brute force approach of course, they don’t have the finesse required to work round a tricky little spell like that one.” Gabriel gives him a cocky smirk. “But I do.”

Dean goes for the knife.

Gabriel throws up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Look, I get it, you don’t like me-”

“Can’t imagine why.”

“-but you’re the one who told me to stand up to my brothers.” The usual humour in Gabriel’s eyes fades as he rises from the armchair. “So do you want my help or not?”

Dean stares disbelievingly at Gabriel. “Why?”

“Because I’m tired of seeing my family killed. Because Anna blackmailed me into putting her human form back together only to throw it all away for you people. Because, believe it or not, it turns out I actually like humanity.” Gabriel’s expression softens into something Dean hasn’t seen since their first encounter. That strange combination of irritation and respect he’d worn when he’d told Dean that he liked him, before siccing his lingerie-clad hellions on him. “You’re an irritating, infuriating, impossible bunch of arrogant dicks,” he says, “but you try. You don’t have a hope in hell of winning but you just keep _trying_. I can see why Dad chose you over us.”

“So, what, Team Heaven wants on Team Free Will now?”

Gabriel laughs. “Look, muttonhead, I practically invented Team Free Will when I skipped out. Now my home is a mess and I’m the only qualified guy left. I’m offering to help you take down Lucifer. Are you in or not?”

“We’ll get back to you on that,” Dean says.

He resists the temptation to stab Gabriel on principle, and wakes up instead.

*****

In the end, Rufus is the only one who votes against joining forces. Chuck gives it his prophet’s seal of approval, and although everyone is wary of taking his visions at face value after Detroit, he seems certain of this.

Castiel abstains, but Dean doesn’t miss the twin looks of hope and fear on his face. He wants to take Cas aside and make sure he’s okay with this, wants to assure him that they’ll make sure Gabriel gets that Castiel’s safety is part of the deal. But things are still awkward between them, and whenever he thinks about being alone with Cas his stomach twists into knots and his throat dries up.

Castiel makes no effort to approach him either, and they continue to avoid each other as much as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ellen and Anna. :'(


	3. Part Three

Gabriel is every bit as obnoxious as Dean remembers him, but he is oddly respectful towards Bobby and Rufus, and almost civil towards Castiel, so Dean chooses not to antagonise him.

They’re still no closer to finding Death, and after Raphael’s death, Lucifer appears to have gone to ground too. But with the angels on their side, they can take on more demons and more hunts than ever before.

Gabriel protests against wasting angelic resources on everyday hunts, but Dean tells him in no uncertain terms that ‘saving people’ means saving _all_ the people, and threatens to banish the angels to all four corners of the earth if they don’t.

Gabriel reluctantly concedes.

*****

Although Gabriel is not the ultimate authority over Heaven, with him on their side, and their numbers increasing daily, Castiel’s dwindling powers begin to return.

He barely notices at first, then doesn’t comment on it when he does for fear that Gabriel will find a way to cut him off again. But the return of his power does nothing to quiet the ever-present storm of emotions, although he constantly hopes it will. Being around Dean is increasingly difficult now that he is aware of what he truly wants from the man. He itches to reach out and touch, and at the same time the very idea is monumentally terrifying. So he avoids Dean whenever possible, volunteering for mission after mission to take him away from Bobby’s place and the all-too-human influences there. 

Gabriel teases him about being a good little soldier, and he tolerates it, although in truth the idea of being Heaven’s good little soldier again fills him with as much dread as his feelings for Dean.

*****

Michael is thoroughly unimpressed with Gabriel’s decision.

The armies of Heaven divide themselves between the two remaining archangels, and there are some who defect to Lucifer.

It makes the battle infinitely harder, but they persevere. Michael at least prefers to focus his forces on going after Lucifer’s armies, although his and Gabriel’s will fight if they cross paths. When that happens, the hunters get the hell out of the way and leave them to it.

Dividing Heaven divides the power of the angels, although Gabriel appears unaffected. They’re still stronger than demons, but they are fewer in number, and not every encounter ends in victory.

Dean finds himself in one such encounter. One minute he’s exorcising a pair of low-rent demons, with a trio of hunters backing him up, and the next, the others are dead and Dean is pinned face down on the floor. A coarse length of rope is wrapped around his wrists and he struggles frantically, until a high-heeled boot swings out of nowhere and connects with his head.

Unconsciousness follows.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass if it’s dangerous. This is a goddamn war, it’s always dangerous,” Bobby roars, and Sam would be impressed at his gumption if he wasn’t so damn terrified that Gabriel is about to reduce Bobby to a pile of dust.

“I didn’t say dangerous,” Gabriel fires back, “I said _suicidal_. We have no idea what they might have waiting for us. Lucifer could be there for all we know!”

“Isn’t that the point of having you around? You say you want to stop him but you won’t actually risk facing him? What are you, some kind of coward?”

“I’ll face him,” Gabriel growls. “When there’s no other choice. And I’ll probably die in the process, so excuse me if I’m not willing to throw my life away just like that for a guy who can’t actually be killed in the first place.”

“Stop it, both of you!” Sam snaps. “We’re not getting anywhere like this. We need a plan.”

“We’ve tried scouting the place, but it’s too heavily protected,” Amitiel says.

“Maybe you should’ve tried bringing a couple of hunters along,” Rufus suggests.

“And what could a hunter see that an angel couldn’t?”

“Oh, I don’t know, how about anything beyond the boundary of the wards?”

Sam throws his hands up in frustration and storms out, leaving the others to their pointless arguing. He’s halfway towards the Impala before he even realises what he means to do.

“You can’t rescue him on your own.”

He turns to see Castiel standing several feet away, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his trenchcoat. If Sam didn’t know any better, he’d say Castiel had been waiting for him to do this.

“No-one else is going to,” he says. “By the time they’re done fighting it out in there, Dean will be dead, or worse.”

“I know,” Castiel says. “But you can’t go alone.”

And Sam gets it.

“Gabriel reckons it’s suicide,” he says, not wanting to put Castiel off, but needing him to understand that they’re about to do something stupidly dangerous.

“He’s probably right,” Castiel agrees.

He raises a hand towards Sam’s forehead, but Sam stops him, a question on the tip of his tongue that he’s been wanting to ask for almost a year.

“Why are you doing this?”

Castiel frowns. “No-one else is going to,” he says.

“No, not this.” Sam flaps a hand between the pair of them to indicate ‘this’. “I mean this. All of this. Why did you rebel?”

For a brief moment he could swear he sees a flicker of something in Castiel’s usually stoic expression, but it’s gone before he can blink.

“Because Dean asked me to. And I... I value his friendship.”

That explanation doesn’t make sense to Sam. Castiel was friends with Anna and Uriel too, but he didn’t rebel for either of them. He full on _fell_ for Dean, would have Fallen completely if Gabriel hadn’t planted himself on their side, still might if Gabriel decides Castiel needs to be punished for disobedience when all this is over.

“Are you in love with him?”

The question comes out of nowhere, and he doesn’t realise until after he asks it that he’s suspected as much for quite some time.

Castiel’s mouth thins, and a frown creases his forehead, but he doesn’t answer the question. Instead he touches his fingertips to Sam’s forehead, and transports them both to the warehouse where Dean is being held captive.

*****

“I can’t get in,” Castiel says, flatly. “And if you got in, you’d never get out alive.”

“We can’t just sit here and do nothing,” Sam says, running his hands through his hair in frustration. Dean is right there, just a few metres and a couple of walls separating them, and they can’t do a damn thing about it.

“You could break some of the wards, but I’d need you to stay out here and keep watch to make sure they don’t reseal and trap me inside.”

“And how am I supposed to do that when I can’t even see them?”

By keeping them broken,” Castiel says. He runs a hand over the wall, and Sam realises he isn’t actually touching it, some invisible force keeping his hand from making contact with the warehouse. “There’s a locking sigil here. You can break it with a blood spell.”

Sam really hates the words ‘blood spell’.

“What do I have to do?” he asks.

Castiel reaches into the pocket of his trenchcoat, and pulls out a box cutter. “Give me your hand.”

Sam holds his hand out, palm up, and Castiel cuts a swift, deep line across the centre. Sam hisses through his teeth at the sting of pain, but Castiel ignores it, taking Sam’s hand and pressing it against the wall, then sweeping it down in a broad arc.

Blood smears along the wall, and Castiel makes another couple of marks, painting a sigil over the top of whatever invisible symbol is already there. When he releases Sam’s hand and reaches forward again, he can touch the wall without any trouble.

Castiel hands Sam the box cutter. “Don’t let the wound close,” he instructs Sam. “And keep the sigil fresh.” He demonstrates with a sweep of his hand along the wall, and Sam mimics it, trailing more blood over the sigil.

“So you want me to just stand here and paint the wall?” Sam asks incredulously.

Castiel frowns like he doesn’t understand the question. “Yes. And also to watch out for any demons that may be guarding the perimeter.”

“Oh. Okay. Then don’t take too long, I’ve only got so much blood in me,” he says.

Castiel nods solemnly, then turns and heads for the warehouse door.

*****

The warehouse is guarded, but not as heavily as it should have been. The demons obviously aren’t expecting a rescue effort so soon, they’ve warded themselves against angels and there are enough of them that they may be able to fend off any rescue attempts mounted by hunters. But they’re ill-prepared for a joint effort, and hardly on high alert, so Castiel is able to fight his way through the guards with relative ease.

He finds Dean tied to a chair in the middle of an office near the back of the warehouse.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says when he sees him. “Bout freakin’ time you got here. Where’s the cavalry?”

“It’s just Sam and I,” Castiel replies, bending to cut loose the ropes around Dean’s legs. “Are you hurt?”

“Yeah, but I’ll live. They were mostly just asking questions about our plans, and since we don’t have much in the way of actual plans, I couldn’t tell them much.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says absently, moving to the ropes around Dean’s wrists, tracing his fingers over them to find a place to cut through that won’t cut through Dean in the process.

“Hey, it’s not your fault. I’m okay,” Dean says easily.

Castiel pauses. Dean does look okay.

He really shouldn’t.

No demon would allow Dean Winchester to go unharmed, not when Lucifer himself has put a price out on his head. And even if Dean wasn’t badly injured, he would definitely not be okay with having been taken prisoner by demons. He’d be furious.

“Cas? Any time you wanna get me outta here is fine by me.”

Castiel ignores him and reaches for the collar of his shirt.

“Hey, what’s with the groping-”

The shirt pulls down to reveal a fresh cut across Dean’s anti-possession tattoo, and a cloaking sigil laid over it.

The demon sighs.

“Well aren’t you a clever little angel. You know, Dean here wasn’t half as quick to figure it out when I was riding Sam.”

A wave of deadly calm sweeps over Castiel. “Get out.”

“Make me,” the demon taunts. “Bet you can’t get me out before I kill him.”

“Possibly not,” Castiel concedes. But my brothers will bring him back if you do. Can you say the same for your boss?”

“You can’t kill me,” the creature says. “I’ve heard about you. Dean’s pet runaway.” The demon’s gaze drags over Castiel with a lascivious smirk. “You don’t have the power to kill me.”

It’s possible the demon is right, Castiel hasn’t tried that particular ability since Gabriel’s alliance restored some of his grace, but it doesn’t matter anyway. Burning a demon from its host is a dangerous process, and despite Castiel’s confidence that Dean cannot truly be killed, he doesn’t particularly want to be responsible for even a temporary death.

“Maybe, maybe not,” he says. “But I can do this: _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas_ -”

The demon attacks, and he throws it back, smashing Dean’s body into a wall with a little more force than he had intended, but he’s fairly certain Dean will forgive him a little rough handling in exchange for getting rid of the demon.

“- _omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio_ -”

“I’ll bite his tongue off!”

“-We’ll heal him. _et secta diabolica. Ergo, draco maledicte_ -”

The demon throws Dean’s head back and opens his mouth, but Castiel clamps his hand over it and continues, the Latin flowing forth as Dean’s body begins to shake under his grip. He holds it as still as he can until the exorcism is complete, and he lifts his hand away to allow the smoke to pour from Dean’s mouth.

Dean collapses limply against him.

Castiel adjusts his grip, hand sliding down from where they had pinned Dean’s shoulders to hook under Dean’s arms and pull him upright. “Dean? Are you okay?”

“Am I okay?” Dean pulls back a little to fix Castiel with a baleful glare. “You just threw me into a _wall_.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I bet you are.” Dean brings his hands up to Castiel’s shoulders, stubbornly trying to bear his own weight. “How did you know?” he asks suddenly, ceasing his struggles to meet Castiel’s eyes.

“I know you,” Castiel says.

“Right,” Dean replies sceptically. Castiel frowns, thinks about telling Dean that he knows him inside out, right down to each individual cell, has seen him angry, happy, grateful or irritated, that he knows how Dean thinks and feels better than anyone, except maybe Sam. 

Instead he says: “We have to leave. Can you walk?”

“Can’t you fly?”

“Not here. Sam is waiting outside.”

“Then I’ll have to,” Dean says, pulling back from Castiel and taking a few painfully slow steps toward the door.

“Dean,” Castiel says, because Dean is clearly not capable of moving fast enough. “I can-”

“No. No freaking way,” Dean interrupts.

“Dean we don’t have time.”

Dean bites his lip and glares fruitlessly back at Cas. “Swear you’ll put me down before we get to Sam?”

It’s almost enough to drag a smile from Castiel, despite their situation. “Of course,” he vows.

“Fine.”

Castiel steps forward and wraps one arm around Dean’s shoulders, bending to slide the other behind Dean’s knees and pick him up. Dean hooks a hand on Castiel’s shoulder to steady himself, and the movement brings their bodies together, brings his face inches from Castiel’s. It’s the closest they’ve been since that night in Bobby’s yard, and Dean seems every bit as aware of that fact as Castiel is, his gaze flickering down between them and then back up to Castiel’s face.

“Just so you know, I am still by far the more manly of the two of us,” he says.

*****

Castiel doesn’t put Dean down before they reach Sam, but fortunately Sam’s concern outweighs his amusement when he spots them and runs toward them. Sam has the demon killing knife in his hand, and there are at least four corpses lying on the ground around him. There’s also an obscene amount of blood smeared over the wall of the warehouse, and Sam’s free hand is wrapped in what looks like some kind of ladies headscarf, apparently pulled from one of the corpses.

For a brief moment, Dean half-expects to see blood around Sam’s mouth too, but he shakes off the fear. That was then, this is now. If his hands are shaking and his jaw is clenched a little tighter than usual, it’s because he’s tempted, sure, but he’s not giving in.

“Is he okay?” Sam demands anxiously as soon as he reaches Dean and Castiel.

“He’ll be fine,” Castiel assures him, shifting his grip on Dean so he can touch his fingertips to Sam’s arm and transport the three of them back to Bobby’s.

Dean may have allowed Castiel to carry him out to Sam, but there is no way in hell he’s letting himself get carried into a room full of hunters and _Gabriel_ , so when they approach the front door he starts to struggle, and Castiel sets him carefully on his feet. 

He’s not remotely impressed by the surprised looks on every face when they walk - or limp, in Dean’s case - into Bobby’s front room.

“Well don’t all jump up at once,” he says.

“Dean! We were just about to come looking for you,” Gabriel informs him brightly.

“No you weren’t,” Rufus says.

“Well, okay, no we weren’t. But we would have, and soon, although apparently it wouldn’t have been necessary anyway.”

“Do you ever get tired of hearing your own voice?” Bobby asks.

“Strangely, no.”

“Well you’re the only one,” Jo snaps.

“Hey!” Dean bellows. Everyone turns back to him. “You know I’ve had just about enough of this arguing. I just spent the better part of a day being possessed by a demon and this is all you managed while I was gone? This entire alliance, everyone is supposed to be working together, and you couldn’t even mount a simple rescue?”

“Not really,” Cas agrees quietly.

The hunters in the room, and some of the angels, at least have the good grace to look contrite. Even Gabriel pauses for a moment and eyes Dean up and down.

“Do you need healing?” he asks after a moment.

It’s about as close to an apology as anyone has ever heard Gabriel get, and Dean has absolutely no guilt about brushing him off.

“Thanks, but no thanks. I just need some sleep.” He glares around the room once more for good measure. “Try not to kill each other while I’m gone.”

Sam helps him out of the room and up the stairs, and behind them Dean hears the arguing break out again, this time over who is most at fault. Dean rolls his eyes, and allows Sam to pitch him onto a bed in a darkened room. He doesn’t even bother trying to get under the sheets, just flops onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. The arguing from downstairs is a muffled echo through the floorboards. 

“Hey, Sam?” he says as Sam turns to leave.

“Yeah, Dean?”

“Thanks.”

Sam smiles. He’s started to smile more often recently, and Dean is glad to see it. He hadn’t really noticed at the time, but back before Lucifer rose, when Sam was off with Ruby, he’d stopped smiling. Dean thinks he should have realised then that something was seriously wrong. How could he not have noticed that about his own brother?

“Sam?”

“Yeah, Dean?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Dean sighs. “I don’t know. For being a lousy brother. For not being there when you needed me. For a whole bunch of stuff.” 

Sam hesitates, then closes the door and leans against it.

“You don’t have to apologise Dean. I wasn’t exactly being Brother of the Year either.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry about Ruby. I never should have trusted her over you.”

“Yeah, you shouldn’t have,” Dean agrees. 

“And I’m sorry about the whole... you know. Face-punching thing.”

Dean snorts out a laugh. “Me too, man. Just promise you’ll never do it again and we’ll call it even.”

Sam nods and lets out the breath he was holding. “Promise,” he says.

Dean nods, his gaze still fixed on the ceiling.

“Good.”

“Good,” Sam echoes. He opens the door again. “Get some rest, Dean.”

“Yes, Mom.”

He hears Sam huff out a laugh as he closes the door behind him, and scores himself some mental big brother points. His tally is still woefully down on what it used to be, but he’s getting better.

It’s good enough, for now.

*****

It’s been barely an hour, but Dean is already beginning to seriously regret refusing Gabriel’s offer of healing. He’d drag his ass back downstairs and take it back, but his leg hurts way too much to even contemplate putting weight on it, and he’s starting to worry it might be broken.

A knock on the door provides an all too welcome distraction from the pain.

“Come in,” he calls, and the door clicks open to admit Castiel.

Dean drags himself upright. “Hey, Cas. Something up?”

“Sam asked me to tell you that Bobby and Gabriel have resolved their differences.”

“That sounds vaguely ominous,” Dean mutters.

“Gabriel threatened to turn Bobby into a worm. Bobby threatened an embargo on any and all forms of candy. They came to a mutual agreement to live and let live.”

Dean actually laughs, and Castiel gives him a small smile, the kind Dean rarely ever gets to see.

“And the others?”

“I think, in all honesty, they were concerned for you,” Castiel says. “They argued because they were worried and needed something to lash out at.”

“Is that an incredibly subtle apology for pushing me around the other night?” 

Dean regrets it the instant he says it, memories of what else happened that night springing up instantly, and Castiel’s smile fades as he looks away.

“I should go,” he says.

“Don’t,” Dean says without thinking. Castiel’s gaze snaps back to him, and Dean swallows, scrambling for an excuse. “I mean, uh, could you do me a favour first? I changed my mind about the healing thing. Can you...?”

“I thought you said you were okay?” Castiel says hesitantly. His gaze rakes across Dean’s body, searching out the injured areas, and Dean feels an entirely unnecessary blush begin to heat his cheeks.

“Yeah, I lied. I’m not letting Gabriel get his hands on me,” he says, and, _shit_ , he can’t seem to stop putting his foot in his mouth tonight.

Castiel takes an uncertain step forward. “Are you sure?” he asks. 

The question sounds far more loaded than it should be. It’s just a healing. A little innocent laying of hands all over Dean’s body.

“Please,” Dean says, and Castiel sinks to his knees before him.

He touches Dean’s shoulder first, and Dean had barely registered the ache of a bruise there, but it fades beneath Castiel’s fingertips, leaving a tingling warmth in its place.

Dean catches his breath as he looks down at Castiel, his face half in shadow in the dark room, focusing resolutely on his hands rather than Dean, and, okay, this is slightly more intimate than he’d imagined.

Cas touches Dean’s ribs next, one hand splayed over his left side, the other settling on his hip. Then he moves the hand on Dean’s hip to his ankle and slides it carefully over Dean’s injured leg, up the shin, over the knee, and back up.

“Dean?”

The hand on Dean’s ribs presses down lightly, and Dean realises that he’s stopped breathing. His skin feels on fire where Cas is touching him, and he’s starting to realise that he may, quite possibly, have made a serious misjudgement about the way Cas has been making him feel recently.

He curls one hand tentatively around Castiel’s neck.

“It’s okay,” he breathes, dropping his other hand to cover Castiel’s on his thigh, moving it back toward his hip.

Castiel’s breath hitches this time, and he looks up.

“Dean?” 

The question is a different one this time. Dean knows that, but he gives the same answer.

“It’s okay,” he repeats, and uses the hand on Castiel’s neck to pull him in for a kiss.

Castiel makes a soft noise of surprise, and for a moment he seems unsure of how to respond, but then he’s kissing Dean back, hesitant at first, but with increasing intensity when Dean doesn’t back away. His fingers twitch restlessly against Dean’s hips, twisting in the hem of Dean’s shirt as though unsure what else to do with them. 

Dean has no such reservations; he pushes his hands beneath Cas’ trench coat and jacket and slides them both off his shoulders in one quick, easy movement. Castiel is reluctant to let go of Dean’s hips long enough to get out of the sleeves, but Dean coaxes them free, and takes advantage of the moment to strip out of his own t-shirt.

Castiel seems to take that as permission to touch, because when his hands return to Dean’s hips they don’t stay there. He traces curious fingers up across Dean’s chest, sweeping a thumb over Dean’s left nipple, then repeating the gesture when Dean shivers involuntarily at the touch.

Then he brings his mouth down and flicks his tongue over the nipple, and Dean figures that’s enough experimenting. 

He makes short work of Castiel’s tie, but his fingers fumble and slip over the buttons of Castiel’s shirt, and he abandons them in favour of hooking his fingers into Castiel’s belt loops and pulling him up, edging backwards and tugging Castiel forward until he’s half-kneeling on the bed in an awkward position. 

Dean backs up the bed a little, unbuttoning his jeans as he goes, then turns his attention to undoing Castiel’s pants. Castiel has more success than Dean with the remaining buttons of his shirt, but then Dean’s fingers slip beneath his boxers, and Castiel moans and bucks forward, almost slipping off the bed until Dean tugs him closer. Dean switches onto his knees, shoving his jeans and boxers down, then does the same for Castiel.

When Castiel’s hand finally closes around him, the touch is awkward at first, clumsy in a way that gives Dean a forceful reminder of Castiel’s inexperience in this kind of thing. But there’s no hesitation in the way Cas handles him, mimicking Dean’s actions as best he can, and he pulls back from kissing Dean to watch, gauging his success by Dean’s reactions.

It’s not the best Dean’s ever had, but fuck, it’s intense, and it’s _Cas_ , wide-eyed and breathing hard, but as focused as ever. Dean has often been at the centre of Castiel’s attention, but he’s never before realised quite what it could mean, never really thought about how it might feel to have all that intensity directed at him like _this_. It’s unbelievably hot.

Castiel curls his free hand around Dean’s neck and presses their foreheads together, too focused on the task at hand to move the extra inch required for kissing. Dean groans and shifts forward slightly, bringing their bodies flush together and wrapping his hand around them both, weaving his fingers between Castiel’s to guide him. Castiel gasps and shudders against him, and Dean can tell he’s close, but Dean’s not far behind. He pulls his head back just enough to get a clear view of Castiel’s face, eyes screwed shut, mouth open and kiss-bruised; and he sees when Castiel comes, the look of rapture that floods his expression as his eyes fly open to meet Dean’s and a startled cry escapes him. 

It’s that look, that and the way Castiel’s right hand flies up to curl tight around the scar on his shoulder, that sends Dean over the edge.

*****

For a long while, neither of them moves. Then Castiel relaxes his grip on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean glances down at the mess between them, and, _oh_. 

He really just did that.

 _Shit_.

He can think of a million and one reasons why this was a Very Bad Idea, and he’s pretty sure that every single one of them will come back to haunt him tomorrow. But Castiel has his face buried in Dean’s shoulder, and his lips are working lazily across Dean’s collar bone, and of all the million and one reasons not to do this, not one of them can justify kicking Castiel out right now.

With a sinking feeling, Dean reaches for his t-shirt to wipe them both clean, then tugs Castiel’s pants back up over his hips. He straightens out his own clothing, then moves carefully to tug the sheets out from beneath them and lies back, pulling Castiel with him. Castiel’ hand never actually leaves his shoulder, but when they’re lying side by side his grip relaxes so it’s more resting than holding.

“Dean,” Castiel murmurs, but Dean hushes him with a quick kiss.

“This is not the part where we talk,” he says.

Maybe, if he’s lucky, there won’t have to be any talking at all.

Castiel wakes alone, with a heavy feeling of doubt in the pit of his stomach.

He should have known better. He does know better, has known for thousands of years that angels do not get involved with humans, but something about Dean Winchester turns everything Castiel thinks he knows upside down and inside out, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

He finds Dean in the kitchen. Bobby, Sam, Jo and Rufus are there too, along with a steady stream of hunters coming and going, some with questions, some with reports and some to steal beers from Bobby’s fridge. 

There’s a general chorus of ‘Hey, Cas’ as he joins them, and Dean nods and smiles in a way that makes Castiel wonder what their situation is now. From the way Dean’s gaze lingers on him, it seems likely he’d be willing to repeat last night’s activities, but Castiel knows better than to assume anything where Dean Winchester is concerned.

He can’t exactly ask about it though, not here, so he returns the nod and turns his attention to the current set of maps spread across the kitchen table. It’s easy enough, once Bobby begins briefing them, to put aside his thoughts of Dean. Having an apocalypse to focus on is almost a welcome distraction.

“The Croatoan virus is back,” Bobby starts, and the atmosphere in the kitchen takes an immediate turn for the worse as Bobby and Rufus begin detailing locations, outbreaks and casualty rates.

“Near as we can figure,” Bobby says, “and this is nothin’ more than an educated guess, but it looks as though the carriers are all being infected at roughly the same time. Which would mean some kind of co-ordination in how they’re planting the infection. Far as we can tell, it might actually be coming from the medical centres. Every carrier that we’ve been able to identify has medical records detailing treatment for swine flu.”

“Why swine flu?” Dean asks.

“I don’t know, why medical patients at all?”

“That may be our answer,” Sam interrupts. “Maybe it’s not about the swine flu, maybe it’s about the treatment. You guys have heard about it, right, the new swine flu cure that came outta nowhere?”

Castiel hasn’t heard about it, but he knows enough about human sicknesses to be able to guess what Sam is suggesting.

“You think they’re being infected through a vaccine?” Jo asks.

“I don’t know, maybe? Is it possible?”

“They’d have to have almost absolute control over the company that manufactures it,” Rufus replies, “everything from developing to marketing the vaccine will have to have been handled by demons in order to avoid raising suspicion. But this is corporate America we’re talking about, so yeah, it’s possible.” 

“We came up against this thing a few years back,” Dean says. “Looks like that was just a trial run, but if they were experimenting with this even back then, they’ll have had plenty of time to snatch up all the necessary meatsuits to take over a company.”

“Well that’s great! Uh, not great in that the demons have control over a pharmaceutical company and are using it to spread a deadly virus, but great that we at least know where to go,” Jo says. Sam pats her arm and she smacks his hand away with a pointed glare.

“So what’s the plan?” Bobby asks.

“I’ll get a team together,” Dean says, “hunters and angels. We head out and hit the place, turn it inside out and get rid of every demonic sonofabitch we can find. Sam, you wanna run a second team down to wherever it is they’re shipping this stuff from? Grab some of this so-called ‘vaccine’ and bring it back here for the folks to check out. One of them should be able to tell us what it’s made of and how to counter it.”

“If we’re right, these places are gonna be crawling with demons,” Bobby cautions.

“So we’ll take a big team,” Dean replies.

After that it’s yet more reports on Death, who seems to get around far more than any of the other three horsemen managed, and a couple of conflicting accounts of the ever-elusive Colt.

The meeting breaks up, and Dean and Sam go to seek out volunteers.

*****

Castiel would have liked to accompany either Winchester on their mission, but Bobby asks him to assist in translating a new set of books that may have some clues on how to summon Death. It takes almost the entire day, but yields some success in the mention of a spell that can be performed by a Crossroads Demon to locate Death. 

Dean’s mission is less successful. He returns late that evening to report the deaths of three of the hunters and two of the angels. His team has found a sample of the vaccine and racked up a rather impressive kill count, but they didn’t get every demon, and they didn’t succeed in shutting down the labs.

Sam reports the same semi-success at the distribution centre. They destroyed the centre itself, but that doesn’t change the fact that supplies of the vaccine are already out there. 

Dean hands their virus sample over to Rufus and Bobby, and heads for the stairs. As he passes Castiel, he hesitates, then reaches out and wraps a hand round Castiel’s upper arm. He fixes Castiel with an unmistakeable look, and then continues upstairs. A minute later, Castiel excuses himself and follows. 

He finds Dean half undressed in the bathroom, the shower already running and heating up behind them. Hot water had apparently become a serious issue before Gabriel joined them, but it turned out the archangel hated cold showers as much as anyone - although why he bothers to shower at all is beyond Castiel - and he had fixed up Bobby’s heating system with a snap of his fingers.

Dean doesn’t turn around when Castiel joins him, but he catches Castiel’s gaze in the mirror over the sink, and Castiel sees him shut his eyes for a moment before looking down to unbuckle his belt.

He strips, unashamedly, in front of Castiel, and Castiel has no idea if he is meant to do the same, or if Dean wants something different for him. After a moment, Dean quirks an eyebrow at him, and he decides undressing may be the way to go. 

This time he actually manages to make it all the way out of his shirt before Dean’s patience snaps, and he hauls Castiel into the shower with him.

The hot water rains down on them both as Dean pulls Castiel into a breathtaking kiss, harder and faster than the ones from the night before, more about taking than giving, but Castiel is willing to yield in this case. He knows that Dean is hurting right now - doesn’t need the way Dean is holding him to tell, could feel it from the moment Dean walked in - blaming himself once again for something he could not possibly have changed.

Dean is already half-hard by the time they pull apart, and Castiel can feel his own body stirring as it always does when he gets too close to Dean. He glances down to take in the sight, both new and familiar to him, then back up to meet Dean’s eyes. Dean hesitates for a moment, and his gaze flickers down to Castiel’s mouth, and _oh_ , Castiel understands this.

He licks his lips and braces his hands on Dean’s hips, and sinks slowly to his knees, feeling himself grow harder from anticipation alone.

Dean winds his fingers into Castiel’s hair as Castiel wraps one hand around Dean and leans forward, lips parting, hesitant and unsure of himself, but willing.

Dean has invited Castiel to ‘blow me’ on several occasions. It seems only natural that he should finally follow up on the offer.

*****

After that first day, Castiel and Dean fall into a pattern of sorts.

They never actually talk about it, but there’s an understanding between them. After a mission, once Dean has made his report, he will signal for Castiel to join him upstairs. If Castiel hasn’t accompanied them on the mission itself he can always tell how it went by the way Dean approaches him. On a good day, when a mission has gone better than they hoped, Dean will pin him up against a wall and wrap his hand around them both. On those days, Castiel’s head hits the wall and his hands dig into Dean’s upper arms, and he holds on as best he can while Dean shows him every possible way to wring pleasure from so simple a touch.

When they’ve been through a particularly difficult battle and Dean is still running high on adrenaline, he will push Castiel down onto the bed and they will rut against each other until they both come; Dean with a soft groan muffled against Castiel’s shoulder, and Castiel gasping Dean’s name. 

And on a bad day, when the losses far outweigh the gain, Castiel will go to his knees before Dean, and Dean will lose himself in Castiel’s touch, his kisses, his mouth. Castiel is a fast learner, and it doesn’t take long to work out what Dean likes, what he loves, and what will leave him shuddering and gasping with his release.

Some nights, Castiel goes to Dean’s room, and they kiss in the dark. Sometimes it’s soft and exploring, Dean guiding Castiel through all his sensitive spots or experimenting to find Castiel’s. Castiel learns that he likes it when Dean licks a trail along the dip of his collarbone, that Dean’s fingers trailing up the inside of his thigh is torturous and tantalising in the best possible way, and that more than anything he loves simply being able to kiss Dean.

He also learns that Dean is ticklish when he trails his fingertips lightly over Dean’s sides, that Dean likes it when Castiel flicks his tongue over Dean’s nipple, and loves it when he grazes his teeth over that same spot. 

On other nights, it’s nothing but heat and tension and friction between them, Dean pushing and testing Castiel’s limits. On those nights Castiel knows that Dean wants to get at the angel beneath the flesh, and he pushes back, exerting just enough strength to remind Dean of who and what he really is. He presses bruises into Dean’s arms and hips, seals his hand over the scar on Dean’s shoulder and lets grace flow between them, until Dean is strung out on pleasure and grinding helplessly against Castiel. 

But no matter how they start, every night ends with a rush of pleasure so intense that Castiel is certain he finally understands why angels are forbidden to feel, and equally certain that he will never regret breaking that rule. How could he, with Dean pressed so close, so quiet and tactile in the moments just after?

Castiel doesn’t actually need to sleep. But he can, and he knows Dean expects it, so he does. Dean tucks up beside him, his hand pressed against Castiel’s shoulder as though he wants to leave his own mark there, and they sleep. He could wake up at any time, at the slightest suggestion of movement or consciousness from Dean, but he chooses not to.

So he always wakes alone.


	4. Part Four

To everyone’s amazement, Rufus somehow manages to enlist Gabriel’s help in analysing the Croatoan virus. They hole up in a caravan behind Bobby’s house for an entire week, puzzling over the samples Dean provided. Anyone who accidentally disturbs them is met with a glare at best, and at worst, when Jo accidentally topples a stack of tyres against one side of the caravan, Gabriel actually zaps her halfway around the world, and only returns her when Sam practically hammers down the door after someone mentions it to him in passing.

With Rufus otherwise engaged, Sam joins Bobby in their research and co-ordination efforts. Some of the angels are leery of reporting to Lucifer’s would-be vessel, but Dean makes it absolutely clear that Sam is in charge, and threatens to report anyone who has a problem with that to Gabriel.

Chuck tries to keep them ahead of the game, but Lucifer is feeding him as much falsehood as truth now and it’s difficult for him to distinguish one from the other. They haven’t walked into another trap like Detroit, but as long as Chuck is confused and unsure of his visions, they’re less able to anticipate Lucifer’s next move anyway, and Dean thinks perhaps that’s exactly what Lucifer intends.

The Croatoan virus continues to be their main problem. Fortunately, infections seem to be limited to remote towns and villages for now, the kind of places where no-one will notice for a while if the entire population turns into blood-crazed zombies. They learn that when infection has spread through an entire town, the inhabitants simply disappear, and nobody can figure out where they go.

Lucifer is building himself an army. That much is obvious, and the general feeling is that it will only be a matter of time before he begins releasing carriers into larger towns.

It’s not all bad though. Sometimes they reach a town before the virus can take hold. They kill the carriers, teach the survivors to protect themselves, and make sure they check in with Singer Salvage Yard at least once a week. It’s reaching the point where they’ve got a whole network of hunters and civilians out there, spread across the backcountry parts of America. An army of their own, as Dean reads in one of Chuck’s aborted drafts. 

He’s not sure how to feel about that.

Dean, Sam and Castiel continue to lead strike teams wherever the virus rears its ugly head. Gabriel pulls his angels from the regular hunts and sets them solely to wiping out the infected and the demons that move among them. It’s the source of many arguments back at Bobby’s - the angels wanting to take the path of least resistance to purifying hotspots, the hunters refusing point blank. 

Dean pointedly avoids thinking about he and Castiel outside of their missions. He’s still absolutely convinced that what they’re doing is a bad idea, but it seems no amount of telling himself that can stop him from going to Castiel or bringing Castiel to him. Castiel can make him forget about the war, about Lucifer and Michael, about the deaths that haunt his dreams and the hell of their waking hours, and Dean can’t let that go, no matter how much he thinks he should.

*****

Gabriel and Rufus figure out the Croatoan virus.

The bad news is, there’s no cure. Not even an angel can heal the virus out of an infected person. But there’s good news, too. The virus is transmitted by blood to blood contact, and while there is no cure, Rufus and Gabriel are confident they can develop a vaccine.

“That’s great, but we don’t have a major pharmaceutical company to distribute it with,” Dean points out. Gabriel gives Dean a pointed look.

“Would you like me to create one, steal one, or infiltrate one?” he asks.

They go with infiltration, because the other two options would just be Gabriel showing off, and he has plenty of opportunity to do that anyway. There’s no point in drawing Lucifer’s attention any more than they have to.

*****

For the most part, the camp settles into a fairly comfortable routine. Friendships form between the hunters, and respect grows between the angels and the humans. Bobby enlists Chuck to release a daily report - warning him to keep the purple prose to a minimum - of both the camp’s activities and the more serious details of the ongoing war.

Occasionally something disrupts the routine, like the day Gabriel decides that the rusty old cars in Bobby’s yard are an eyesore, and the caravans are just plain tacky, and conjures up rows upon rows of neat little huts in the fields behind Bobby’s house, complete with hot and cold running water. Chuck dubs it ‘Hunterville’ in that day’s report, and corny as it sounds, the name sticks.

Other times, the distractions are far less welcome. Two of Gabriel’s angels defect to Lucifer’s side, killing several hunters and angels while working as double agents on missions. When Gabriel finds out, his retribution is swift and brutal. 

There’s still some hostility between the angels and hunters, each blaming the other side for their current situation and rarely able to agree on a solution. Even Castiel, despite being more loyal to the humans than the angels, is the subject of mistrust and dislike from those hunters who don’t know the full details of his story with the Winchesters.

Sam, on the other hand, has earned the grudging respect of many of the angels. He throws himself into every situation with an almost reckless zeal, until - prompted by Jo - Bobby and Dean take him aside and warn him to take more care.

Throughout it all, more and more hunters arrive at Singer Salvage Yard. It should be encouraging, but Dean finds himself unsettled by it all. Aside from the fact that gathering like this makes them an easy target - if Bobby’s house could actually be targeted through the layers of defensive and protective magic laid over the area by Gabriel and the other angels - it also gives him an unnerving sense that something big is lurking in the distance, and this is the calm before the storm.

Not that it’s actually calm, of course, but still for all that this is the apocalypse, it’s beginning to feel, well, kinda routine.

One night, three weeks after the first night Dean spent with Castiel, he wakes with a start, the fuzzy remnants of a dream running through his head. Beside him, Castiel stirs awake as he presses the heel of his hand against his eyes and tries to remember it, but the effort proves fruitless.

“Dean?” Castiel murmurs into the dark.

“It’s nothing, Cas. Just a bad dream,” he says.

Castiel sits up, and Dean is suddenly, painfully aware that they are both utterly naked beneath the thin sheets on Den’s bed. It’s the first time they’ve been in this situation when it’s not about to lead to some form of sex. In fact, Dean thinks this may be the first time after sex that they’ve woken up in the same bed.

He tries not to feel guilty about that, but it’s not easy when Castiel is watching him closely, all wide-eyed and concerned.

“Really, Cas, I’m okay. Go back to sleep.”

Castiel hesitates, but after a moment he does as Dean asks. 

Dean lies awake for another hour, watching the steady rise and fall of Castiel’s chest, his peaceful expression. Castiel doesn’t dream, and he certainly doesn’t get nightmares. Dean envies him that. 

When he wakes the next morning, Castiel isn’t there. Dean feels oddly let down.

*****

The dream start to happen more often, and Dean jolts awake after every one, disturbing Castiel from his sleep. After the first couple of times, he begins to press Dean for information, and at first Dean can’t remember, but then bits and pieces start coming back to him. The more he remembers, the more Castiel presses, until one night Dean snaps at him. “Why are you suddenly so interested in what I’m dreaming about?”

He’s thoroughly unprepared for Castiel to surge up and roll Dean beneath him. He struggles for a brief moment, the sudden loss of control more frightening than it should be, but he can’t help remembering that Castiel is far stronger than he is, and it sparks his defensiveness. But then Castiel fits their bodies together and rolls his hips in one long, sinuous motion, and Dean goes from scared to turned on so fast it knocks the breath out of him.

“Because,” Castiel breathes as he grinds down against Dean, dragging their bodies together in a delicious friction, “you may not be a prophet, Dean, but there are a great many beings who might be interested in your dreams.” He lowers his head to nip at Dean’s ear, then continues, “You are special, whether you like it or not, and when a dream troubles you as this one is, it could be significant.”

He lapses into silence after that, focused on drawing Dean’s orgasm from him.

A short while later, when they’ve both come and Castiel has returned to his original position beside Dean, he thinks to ask, “If you’re that interested, why don’t you just step into my head and take a look?”

Castiel gives him a troubled look. “I can’t. I’ve tried, but something is blocking me.”

Dean falls silent again, sliding his fingers absently through the mess on his stomach and idly wondering if he can get Castiel to do that more often.

A routine Croatoan cleanup goes horribly wrong. Sam and Dean barely escape with their lives, thanks only to the timely intervention of Amitiel, and the rest of their team is decimated. Amitiel transports them back to Bobby’s, then disappears to report to Gabriel. Jo hunts out another angel to heal the brothers, and then the three of them proceed to get stinking drunk on the last of Chuck’s best whiskey.

Chuck joins them - it is his whiskey so it’s only fair - and the foursome drink themselves into merry oblivion, holed up in Bobby’s panic room.

*****

“The shittiest thing, ‘bout bein’ a prophet of the fucking lord,” Chuck informs them, “issat I don’t even get paid.”

“Amen,” Jo toasts, and the others raise their glasses to drink to it. 

“Know what else is shitty ‘bout it?” Chuck continues. “All the things I don’t ever want to see. You lot saving people, hunting things, s’all well and good. But th’people you don’t save s’never a pretty sight, and don’t even get me _started_ on all the sex. Th’pair of you, anyone would think-”

“A-fucking-men!” Sam toasts, and Dean hastily refills Chuck’s glass in the hope that he’ll stop meandering down that particular path.

It hadn’t even occurred to him until right that moment that Chuck sees everything about Sam and him, including their sex lives. He feels a sudden, incredibly prudish urge to do everything with Castiel under the sheets and in the missionary position from now on, then tries to imagine Castiel’s expression when he does, and falls about laughing.

“Whasso funny?” Sam demands, toasting the joke anyway on sheer principle.

“Nothing,” Dean chokes out. “S’not funny, s’really not. S’probably the most serious I’ve ever been actually.”

And that sets him off again.

“T’isn’t funny if no-one else is in on it,” Sam grumbles.

“Amen,” Chuck agrees.

*****

They’ve drunk their way through all of Chuck’s whiskey and most of Bobby’s beers when Castiel finds them, laughing raucously over Sam’s drunken recounting of Lucifer showing up in his dream as Jess.

When Dean spots him, he laughs even harder, and Castiel’s baffled frown is so close to the one he had pictured for him trying to hide their activities from Chuck that he all but chokes as he tries, and fails, to gasp for breath between laughs.

Bobby appears over Cas’ shoulder, and frowns in at the four of them.

“Well ain’t this a party,” he says, but there’s no real rancour in his voice, and Dean figures he understands. They’re not just goofing off or partying through the apocalypse. They’re here because it’s better than being out there and having to look Tamara in the eye as they try to explain that there was nothing they could do to save her partner from being ripped apart by bloodthirsty Croats. 

Dean crashes down from his high so fast it makes his stomach churn.

Gabriel ducks between Castiel and Bobby to get a look at the four of them, and clicks his tongue impatiently.

“Was that the last of the good whiskey?” he demands.

“My whiskey,” Chuck replies, hugging the empty bottles to his chest.

“Sure it was, muttonhead,” Gabriel says, but he doesn’t sound remotely bothered by Chuck’s drunken defiance. He bends down beside the prophet and prys the bottles from his fingers, and when he sets them down on the floor, they’re already full again. He taps Chuck once on the forehead, and Chuck passes out cold.

Castiel administers the same treatment to Jo while Gabriel deals with Sam. Then Castiel kneels down beside Dean, and Dean jerks back instinctively.

“Don’t,” he slurs, grabbing the collar of Castiel’s coat and pulling himself into a more or less upright position. “Just help me up the stairs.”

Bobby steps aside to allow them both through, and Castiel half walks, half carries Dean up to his room.

Dean faceplants onto his bed, then flops onto his back and stares up at the same ceiling that he’s been staring at for the past however many months it’s been since they set up permanently at Bobby’s. He kinda likes that it’s a familiar ceiling, but at the same time he misses not being on the road any more.

The bed dips beside him as Castiel sits down, and it belatedly occurs to him that Castiel has been on a mission of his own today. Dean should’ve brought a couple of beers up for him as well.

“Bobby told me what happened,” Castiel says softly, laying a gentle hand on Dean’s forehead. 

For a moment Dean just lies there and blinks up at the ceiling, wallowing in his alcohol-soaked haze and letting Castiel’s words float over him, but then his vision begins to sharpen and the room swims into focus, and his head hurts like someone is squeezing his brain out like a sponge to rid it of alcohol.

“No,” he protests, trying to push Castiel’s hand away, but Castiel keeps it there until Dean has gone from falling-down drunk to mildly tipsy. There’s still just enough of a buzz to numb the worst of the pain, but he’s all too aware of where he is, what he’s been doing and why he was doing it.

“Dick,” he mumbles.

“Sometimes,” Castiel agrees.

Dean pulls himself upright. “What happened with your thing?” he asks, because it’s only polite, and if Castiel talks about his job, Dean won’t have to think about theirs.

“It was uneventful,” Castiel says, which isn’t a whole lot of help. “We cleaned out a hive of demons, and one of them was able to give us a lead on Death. No casualties.”

“Good,” Dean says, and he means it. Then he leans forward and kisses Castiel, licking the traces of whiskey on his tongue into Castiel’s mouth. Castiel doesn’t hesitate to respond, hasn’t hesitated around Dean in some time now, and Dean feels the familiar flare of heat in his belly when Castiel opens up to him willingly.

He doesn’t waste time with slow and gentle, needing to forget, wanting to lose himself in Castiel. Castiel gets with the program pretty fast, and between one breath and the next Dean finds himself stark naked against Castiel’s equally naked body, their clothes banished into a haphazard pile on the chair in the corner of Dean’s room. 

“Wait,” Dean mutters, although he’s the one currently biting a line of hurried kisses along the curve of Castiel’s throat. He tugs awkwardly at the sheet beneath them and pulls it up and over, throwing it across his bare ass but utterly failing to cover much else.

“What-?” 

“Chuck,” he mumbles into Castiel’s collarbone. “The pervy sonofabitch is always watching.”

“Then it’s a little late to be worried about modesty, isn’t it?” Castiel asks, sliding his hand beneath the sheet to get a hold on Dean’s ass and pull him in closer.

Dean laughs, and this time it’s actually genuine, fading out into a gasp when Castiel’s free hand reaches between them.

“Still some things he hasn’t seen,” he says between kisses and the long, torturously slow strokes of Castiel’s hand, fumbling his own hand between them to urge Castiel on.

Castiel makes a sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan.

“You want to try something different?”

Dean pauses and pulls back, looking down at Castiel, stretched out beneath him and breathing hard. Castiel shivers beneath his gaze, but makes no effort to hide himself, totally unselfconscious. 

Dean doesn’t necessarily want different. He just wants _more_.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. Let me fuck you.”

And there it is, the hesitation that Castiel has all but escaped, flickering for a brief moment on his face, even as his hips twitch beneath Dean in unconscious assent. Then he nods.

“Yes,” he breathes.

Dean gives him a hard, bruising kiss, then rolls to the side of the bed in search of lube. He contemplates the packet of condoms that always lives in the back pocket of his jeans, but dismisses it. He’s not exactly concerned about catching angel cooties, and he’s pretty sure Cas wouldn’t catch anything from him even if he wasn’t clean.

He rolls back with a tub of Vaseline, opens it with hands that are absolutely _not_ shaking, and liberally coats his fingers in the stuff. 

Castiel watches him with so much focused intensity that Dean worries he might get stage fright as he nudges into place between Castiel’s legs. Castiel opens up to him immediately, a look of absolute trust in his eyes as Dean slides his hand down, searching by touch, unable to take his eyes off Castiel’s face. He finds what he’s looking for and pushes carefully in, the first press of his fingers making Castiel arch off the bed with a stunned, breathy gasp.

Dean goes carefully, coaxing Castiel to open up to him, utterly transfixed by the whole new set of reactions and noises Castiel is making. His body twists and bucks beneath Dean when Dean adds another finger, his breath coming out in short gasps and heavy sighs. 

“Dean. _Dean_. I’m not going to break,” he pants. Dean knows that, knows he could probably fuck Castiel dry with no prep, and it would hurt him more than it hurt Castiel. 

But he’s kind of enjoying making the angel come apart on his fingers alone; savouring the anticipation of what comes next.

Castiel is much less patient than Dean, which may well have something to do with the way Dean is stroking his fingers over a spot inside him that makes him gasp and push back against Dean’s hand with every touch. He cracks while Dean is still leisurely experimenting with his hands and seizes Dean’s hips, dragging him down. And, okay, maybe Dean wants to be getting on with this too. He lines up and pushes in carefully, inching forward until Castiel tugs at his hips and slams him all the way in.

“No more games,” Castiel growls, and Dean doesn’t have a problem with that. He pulls almost all the way out and thrusts back in, Castiel rising up to meet him, and - oh, fuck - it’s nothing like Dean has ever experienced before. Castiel is impossibly hot and tight, his fingers digging hard into the flesh of Dean’s ass and the muscle of his shoulder as Dean finds his rhythm and just fucking goes for it, pounding into Castiel hard and fast. Castiel meets him thrust for thrust, arching up into him, a soft, stunned noise escaping him every time Dean hits home.

It doesn’t take long for either of them, Castiel pushed too close to the edge by Dean’s hands, and Dean unable to hold it together against the way Castiel shudders against him and muffles his cry in Dean’s shoulder as he comes. He crashes into Castiel as far as he can go and holds himself there, shaking apart with nothing but Castiel’s hands to hold him together.

*****

Dean doesn’t pull out immediately afterwards. He couldn’t even if he wanted to, what with the way Castiel’s hand is still gripping his ass and holding him in place. But eventually he has to draw back and look down, just to take in Castiel’s flushed cheeks and wild bed hair, and the way he’s looking at Dean like Dean has just given him back a little slice of Heaven.

It’s that look that blindsides Dean and snaps him brutally back to reality.

He can’t do this. He can’t be this for Castiel, whatever this is that Castiel wants him to be. And he’s letting himself fall, letting himself slip into something resembling - Dean doesn’t even know what - and it _can’t happen_. He never should have let it get this far.

They’re in the middle of the fucking apocalypse; now is really not the time to be getting comfortable with anyone. He can’t afford to let Cas get to him like this, because sooner or later, one or both of them might be lost. Sam and Castiel have already taken stupid risks for him, and he doesn’t want to give them any more reason to do so.

He drops his head onto Castiel’s chest and shuts his eyes, drawing in a shaky breath and willing himself to move away, but Castiel’s arms come up to circle his waist and he can’t bring himself to do it.

He’ll leave when Cas is sleeping. It’s what he always does, and Castiel understands. He’ll get the message.

Castiel wakes, alone.

It shouldn’t surprise him, but it does. He rolls onto his back, into the still-warm dip where Dean had slept, and scrubs a hand over his eyes, staring blankly upward.

He is tired of only having Dean on Dean’s terms. He has given enough, more than he ever knew he could give, and Dean offers him nothing in return.

It is not a fair trade, and Castiel is tired of it.

He transports himself out of bed and into his clothes in the blink of an eye. Recently he has been rising the human way, rolling out of bed and pulling his clothes on one item at a time, but today he isn’t in the mood for humanity. He flits downstairs in the same way, startling Jo and Bobby when he appears the kitchen. They’ve grown used to him coming and going on foot, and he can’t quite clamp down on the flicker of amusement when they both jump and then try to act as though they didn’t.

“Morning, Cas,” Jo says brightly. “Coffee?”

She offers him coffee every morning, and every morning, Castiel declines. She smiles when he does so again, making up two mugs and carrying them back into the front room, where Sam and Rufus are poring over a map and talking in low, excited voices.

Castiel follows her through to investigate the cause of the excitement.

“Morning, Cas,” Sam greets him, and Rufus acknowledges him with a curt nod. 

“So, that tip you guys picked up yesterday about the Crossroads Demon may have been the break we needed,” Sam says. He pulls Jo closer to him so that Castiel can step up to the table and take a look at the map. 

Red sticky labels are planted all across the map in various towns and cities, accompanied in some instances by larger blue labels, and in some with small yellow dots. Castiel has long since given up trying to fathom the illogical plotting systems of the hunters, so he waits for Sam to explain what each label means.

They’re tracking a high level Crossroads Demon - _the highest_ , the demon he had interrogated yesterday had told them - and from the looks of things, the demon is not being as subtle in his movements as his compatriots generally are. The red dots label incidents of hellhound attacks; the blue, of possible deals being made. But the yellow dots show success stories, _monumental_ success stories considering the state of the world at the moment. Each dot is labelled with a date, the earliest down in Los Angeles, where a down-on-his-luck actor had made an amazing comeback with a series of blockbuster film deals. Then more, criss-crossing the map before coming to a stop six weeks ago, just outside Boston.

“And then, nothing,” Sam reports. “No sightings, no omens, no deals or attacks. Like he just disappeared off the face of the Earth.”

“I’m failing to see how this is good for us,” Jo says.

“Because the demon who told us about him yesterday seemed very certain that he was alive,” Castiel says. “Which means he’s in hiding.” 

“But we only started searching for a demon like him recently, so he’s not hiding from _us_ ,” Rufus adds.

“So he’s hiding from Lucifer?” 

“That’s our working theory,” Sam nods.

“Why would a demon want to hide from Lucifer?” 

“Possibly the demon is aware of Lucifer’s true intentions towards its kind. If it knows what Lucifer truly thinks of demons, it may have defected,” Castiel says.

“We really wanna trust that theory?” Jo asks.

Nobody actually looks at Sam, but they’re all waiting on his word. Despite everything that happened with Ruby - or maybe because of it - Sam is generally the final say in who to trust and how much to trust them.

“Not really,” he says. “But right now it’s the best hope we’ve got.”

“I agree,” Castiel says quietly. “The question now, is how do we draw him out of hiding? He may not support Lucifer, but Heaven is hardly a suitable alternative. If he knows we’re working with Gabriel he’ll be even more reluctant to deal.”

“I could try and summon him?” Sam offers.

“That would be unwise. Lucifer is free because of you. He may look at you as an enemy on principle, and demons aren’t exactly known for letting go of grudges,” Castiel cautions.

“How about me?” Jo asks.

“No way,” Sam says instantly. “No. Your mom would kill us. She’d find a way to come back from the grave and tear us a new one.”

Jo glares at him, looking ready to protest, to fight over it, and Sam glares stubbornly back. It’s clear this is an argument they’ve had before, and although Castiel would normally let them battle it out, now is not the time. They are too close, and although he is sure Jo could do this, he has a better idea.

“I’ll do it,” he says.

“I thought you said he won’t play ball with angels?” Rufus says.

“Most angels. Gabriel’s angels. But the demons know by now that my loyalty lies with you, and the lure of a... a falling angel, will be powerful to a demon like this one.”

Sam’s eyebrows quirk up at the word ‘falling’, but he doesn’t ask. “It’s your call, man. You can take care of yourself, right?”

Castiel nods.

“Alright. We’ll let Dean know-”

“We shouldn’t tell Dean,” Castiel says, some small part of him rebelling at the thought of acting on Dean’s orders right now.

“Yeah, I don’t think Dean’s gonna like the whole dealing with a demon thing,” Jo concurs.

“I don’t think anyone is gonna like it,” Rufus points out, “but I agree. Best not to let anyone know what we’re trying until we know if it’s actually gonna work.”

Sam frowns slightly, but nods his assent. “Alright, fine. Cas, what do you need to summon him?”

Castiel reaches into his inside jacket pocket, pulls out the false ID Dean and Sam made for him several months ago, and tosses it to Sam. 

“I thought I might try doing it your way,” he says.

Sam fishes the photocard from its leather wallet and smiles.

*****

Standing at the crossroads, Castiel allows himself a moment to consider the possible flaws in his plan. His powers, though recharged, are still not all they once were, and the demon he is about to summon is easily a match for Alastair in terms of strength. He knows, from a tactical viewpoint, that he has done everything possible to prepare and protect himself should the demon try to turn on him, but the flicker of unease is acute and unsettling. He cannot simply silence the feeling as he once would have, but he can ignore it, repress, as he has seen Dean do.

He buries all the doubt and uncertainty beneath his old, unflinching convictions, and kneels in the centre of the crossroads. 

Summoning the demon should be a simple matter for an angel, but Castiel doesn’t want the thing to know who is calling to it before the last possible moment. So he digs, and buries the small tin that Sam helped him prepare, then stands back and waits.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

“Well, this is interesting.” The voice comes from behind him, but Castiel doesn’t bother to turn. He is acutely aware of his surroundings, knows exactly where the demon currently stands and where the nearest trap lies.

“What do I call you?” he asks, almost polite but for the undercurrent of warning in his tone. He may have approached the demon, but he’s not about to give any sign that he actually _needs_ it. The thing needs to believe that Castiel and the others are approaching it out of curiosity, not as a last resort.

“Name’s Crowley. And you must be Castiel. Dean Winchester’s pet angel, am I right?”

Castiel doesn’t react.

“Well. What can I do for you?”

Castiel turns and faces the demon, beginning to circle it slowly. The demon takes a wary step back.

“I’m here on behalf of the Winchesters and their allies.”

“Ah. Come for this, have you?” 

Crowley reaches into his jacket and pulls out an ornately decorated gun with a long, thin barrel. Guns are not Castiel’s area of expertise, but he has learned a little from Dean, enough to know that the gun Crowley holds is a Colt. Enough to know, from the strange, almost threatening aura to it, that the gun Crowley holds is _The_ Colt.

“Where did you get that?” he demands. Crowley cocks an eyebrow.

“What, this isn’t what you want? Well, forget I mentioned it then.” He makes to put the Colt away, but Castiel snaps a hand out and summons it from Crowley with a thought. 

“Hey!” Crowley growls, and Castiel cocks the Colt and aims it at Crowley. “Hey,” Crowley repeats, raising his hands almost casually. “That won’t work on me you know.”

“No,” Castiel replies. “But this will.”

He shoots, and the bullet catches Crowley hard in the chest, sending him staggering back a pace, directly into the line of the devil’s trap Castiel had painted at the side of the road.

Crowley pushes, ineffectually, at the edges of the trap.

“Clever,” he remarks. “Not like those bloody idiots you’ve been following. So! You’ve got me. What do you want from me?”

“The location of Death,” Castiel replies.

“Sorry, no can do.”

“You’re lying. There’s a spell-”

“Spell calls for a human soul. You lack the necessary ingredients.”

Castiel hesitates. 

“Oh, look,” Crowley sighs. “I want Lucifer stopped as much as any of you, we’re all on the same side here. Tell you what. You find me a willing soul, and I promise I’ll give it back when I’m done with it.”

Castiel fixes the demon with a skeptical look.

“My word to… Someone. Or whatever. Look, you can even make it part of the deal. If I renege, the deal is broken and the soul is restored anyway. It’s win-win.”

Castiel seriously doubts that, but they have no other options. Besides, there are ways to ensure Crowley doesn’t attempt to double-cross them. 

“You’ll have to return with me.”

“Not a bleeding chance. I know who else has sided with your little ‘Free Will’ club, and I’m not going anywhere near them.” Crowley cocks his head to the side and smiles. “Unless, that is, you can guarantee my safety.”

Castiel’s first thought is to refuse. He knows exactly what Crowley means, and he should refuse, but they _need_ this. And he is too close to fail now.

“Name your terms.”

Dean is none too happy to learn of the deal.

“Are you _nuts_?” he demands. 

“Not at all.”

“Oh, so making deals with demons is considered a good plan now?”

Castiel bristles at the disbelieving tone in Dean’s voice.

“I’m in no danger. Neither is he, nor anyone else here, those were the terms of the deal.”

“Did you kiss him?”

“Dean!” Sam interrupts.

Dean falters, but Castiel can’t help wonder if that’s a flicker of jealousy he sees in Dean’s eyes. 

“Yes he did,” Crowley cuts in, sounding almost offended at Dean’s outrage. “That’s how this whole system works. I’m sure you remember, right Dean?”

Dean flinches. His gaze moves to Castiel, and again Castiel thinks there’s something - hurt, jealousy, betrayal, he’s not sure which - in Dean’s eyes for a fraction of a moment before he looks away.

“You can make deals with angels?” Sam asks, natural curiosity overtaking his wariness of the demon in their midst.

“I’m the King of the Crossroads, I can do whatever the hell I like,” Crowley replies.

“Which of course brings me to my next question: what are you doing _here_?” Dean cuts in.

“I’m here to help you find Death,” Crowley says, sounding thoroughly pleased with himself.

“And you’re just gonna do that out of the goodness of your heart? What the hell, Cas, where did you even find this guy?”

“I summoned him,” Castiel replies.

“You _what_?”   
Dean rounds on Castiel, moving in close. He looks like he’s gearing up for a rant, hands flexing as though he’s barely restraining himself from trying to shove Castiel into the wall.

“Hey, hey, it was my idea,” Sam says, insinuating himself between Dean and Castiel and planting a hand on each of their chests to keep them apart. Castiel is grateful to him. He isn’t sure if he would punch Dean or wrestle him to the nearest horizontal surface and kiss him if he could get close enough right now, but neither is really a workable option. So he allows Sam to separate them, withdraws long enough for Sam to explain that this was his plan, that they weren’t sure what results it might yield, and so they hadn’t shared with everyone.

“You still should have told me,” Dean growls.

“We wanted to move on this quickly,” Sam explains. “And you-”

“You weren’t there,” Castiel says, simply. 

Dean stares at him, anger giving way to a brief flicker of confusion before Crowley interrupts them all.

“I hate to come between this little lover’s spat,” he purrs, “but can we get to the reason you brought me here?”

“You can find Death,” Sam says.

“No,” Castiel states.

“Yes,” Crowley counters, glaring at Castiel.

Sam and Dean stare between the two of them.

“Okay. Care to elaborate?” Dean asks.

“It’s a simple enough spell,” Crowley says. “There’s just one minor technicality.”

“The spell requires a human soul,” Castiel cuts in.

“No,” Dean says immediately, his expression somehow darkening even further as he glares at Crowley with enough hatred that the demon actually blinks and backs up fractionally.

“You got any better ideas, Dean?” Sam says helplessly.

“You got any volunteers, Sam?” Dean shoots back.

“If it helps, I’ll give it back,” Crowley interjects. “But it can’t be either of you two. The angels have a monopoly on your souls unfortunately.”

“Speaking of angels,” Sam mutters. As if waiting for his cue, Gabriel chooses that moment to appear in the middle of the room. Crowley doesn’t exactly jump, but he does try and subtly insinuate himself somewhere behind Castiel.

“Howdy gang, what’s with the pow-wow?” Gabriel says. All heads swivel towards Crowley, and Gabriel visibly brightens. “Well, hey, Crowley!”

Crowley abandons his attempts at becoming invisible in favour of fixing Gabriel with a stunned stare.

“… _Loki_?” 

Gabriel grins and waggles his eyebrows.

“Whoa, whoa, you two know each other?” Dean demands.

“We go way back,” Gabriel says. 

“We’ve met,” Crowley confirms. “He never mentioned that he was an _archangel_ though. You feathery bastard, I almost liked you!”

Gabriel manages to look almost genuinely contrite. “It’s not like I was lying on purpose or anything; I was in hiding. And anyway, first time we met, you told me you were a Dutch hex demon!”

“Yeah, but I did tell you who I really was. Eventually,” Crowley grumbles.

“Wait, you knew Crowley was the demon we were looking for?” Sam demands.

“No,” Gabriel replies, eyeing Crowley. “But I knew he was _possibly_ the demon we were looking for. There were several possibilities for who would take dominion of the crossroads from Lilith.”

“And you didn’t immediately guess that I’d win? I’m wounded,” Crowley says.

Dean lets out an impatient growl, and Sam looks about ready to try and kick Gabriel out, so Castiel steps forward and plants the Colt on Bobby’s desk. 

An abrupt silence descends.

“Is that the Colt? He had the Colt?” Dean swings round, switching his glare from Gabriel, back to Crowley. “How did you get that?”

“Valentine’s Day gift from Lilith,” Crowley says. Castiel can’t tell if he’s being truthful. He can sense the shift in Dean’s mood though - from angry to murderous - as he eyes Crowley with increased suspicion.

“You knew Lilith.” Sam’s face darkens, his hands curling into fists, and there’s mistrust in his eyes too, now.

“Oh, we go way back. Old friends, very close. As in, _very_ close, if you know what I mean.”

Dean snatches up the Colt and levels it at Crowley.

“Just stop talking,” he orders.

Much to everyone’s surprise, Crowley does. The demon inclines his head politely and waves his hands in the universal gesture for ‘carry on then’, but he also casts a subtle glance at Castiel, and Castiel suspects he simply doesn’t want Dean to know that the Colt won’t work on him. He silently vows to find something that will.

“Okay, so,” Dean says. “To recap, we have the Colt, we have the demon that can find Death except he can’t, and we have an archangel who’d rather be BFFs with said demon-”

“-Hey! I was never _friends_ with a demon,” Gabriel interrupts, looking outraged at the very idea. Castiel watches Crowley bite his lip to keep from snarking back at Gabriel, choosing instead to cajole the others.

“I already told you, I’ll give it back. Just one little soul, for a good cause. It’s win-win for you people.”

“We’ll be the judge of that,” Dean snaps.

“Fine. Well, just remember that while you’re judging, Death is out there, and the body count is increasing by the second. So no pressure.”

There’s a brief moment of silence, and then someone says: “I’ll do it.”

All eyes turn to Bobby, leaning up against the doorway and watching events unfold.

“No,” says Dean immediately. “No-one’s doing anything.”

“Well you’ve got that right at least,” Crowley mutters.

“Someone has to,” Bobby growls. “And this ain’t your choice, boy, it’s mine.”

“You think he’ll actually give it back?”

“I’d be stupid not too,” Crowley points out. “Bad enough I’ve got Lucifer on my back, I don’t need Team HoYay gunning for me as well.”

Dean opens his mouth to protest further, glaring at the other occupants of the room as if demanding them all to back him up, but no-one else speaks. Sam is busy glaring at Crowley, Bobby looks resolute, and Gabriel is pre-occupied with a book on Bobby’s desk, having apparently lost interest in the conversation. Castiel studiously avoids his gaze. He knows how futile it is to try and stop any one of these men when they set their minds to something.

Dean closes his mouth and settles for glaring at Crowley, who claps his hands together.

“Right then. Shall we seal the deal?”

He looks at Bobby with raised eyebrows and a self-satisfied smirk. All eyes come to rest on the pair of them as Crowley advances, and Bobby takes half a step back before steeling himself to meet the demon. With no warning, Crowley yanks Bobby forward and seals their lips together. Dean and Sam wince and avert their eyes as Gabriel whips out an iphone with a gleeful cackle. Castiel watches Crowley carefully for signs of a double-cross.

The kiss lasts for less than five seconds, and when it ends, Bobby scrubs at his mouth with his shirtsleeve while Crowley steps casually back.

“You know, you don’t _need_ to use tongue,” he says.

“Don’t start,” Bobby growls. “Just tell us where Death is.”

Crowley smiles.


	5. Part Five

Death, as it turns out, is in Chicago. 

“Or he will be. Tomorrow,” Crowley says, smugly. Rufus and Jo have joined them now, listening closely with an air of tense expectation. This is the break they’ve been waiting for, and everybody wants to know everything. 

“Tomorrow, huh?” Sam asks.

“He’s on his way there right now,” Crowley confirms. “Now, if you’ll excuse me-”

“Oh no, you’re not going anywhere,” Dean says. “Cas, do you mind?”

Castiel’s gaze flickers toward him for a moment, and he nods curtly, then steps forward and shoves Crowley toward the window. Or rather, toward the devil’s trap painted on the ceiling above the window.

Crowley doesn’t bother trying to escape. “Fine hospitality you’ve got here,” he remarks, looking only slightly put out by the whole manhandling and imprisonment thing. “Doesn’t your side have rules about this kind of thing? You know, do unto others? The Geneva bloody Convention?”

Castiel doesn’t blink, not even when Crowley raises his eyebrows at him and offers a lascivious smirk. Dean can’t quite ignore the hot surge of anger that triggers.

“Hey, it could be worse,” he reminds Crowley pointedly. “And if you behave, and you’re not lying about Death, we might even let you go when this is over.”

“Could I at least have a chair to sit on?”

There’s a brief pause - where everyone sort of glances at everyone else, as if trying to figure out if it’s okay to give the demon a chair, or if he might be planning to use it to MacGyver his way out - before Gabriel slides an armchair across the floor toward Crowley.

“And a book?” 

A longer pause, and then Jo throws him the closest book to hand, which turns out to be one of Chuck’s earliest publications.

“Some whiskey?”

“Don’t push your luck,” Bobby growls.

Crowley shrugs and settles into his chair, cracking open Chuck’s book. He flips past the title and contents pages, then looks back up at his audience.

“Do you mind?”

Dean really does fucking mind that there’s a demon in Bobby’s living room, sitting in Bobby’s armchair and reading the story of his life. But since he can’t do anything about it, he contents himself with tossing the Colt to Rufus and saying “Keep an eye on him,” before waving the rest of the room’s occupants through to the kitchen to make plans.

*****

Finding Death is a big deal, but it doesn’t mean the entire army is going to saddle up and charge off after him, no matter how much they might want to. 

It takes them the better part of four hours to hash out a plan from the information Crowley has given, and a further two hours to decide who gets to execute that plan. Gabriel and Castiel are resolutely determined that only one Winchester gets to put his neck on the line for this one, so Dean and Sam resort to rock-paper-scissors to decide.

Sam wins, so he gets to pick the rest of the team. He chooses Bobby, Tamara, Jo and Amitiel, and tells Amitiel to find another angel to join them. Dean silently fumes over getting left behind, and tries to convince Sam to take Castiel, since Cas is still the only angel he actually trusts to look out for the humans in the team. But Rufus calls from the living room that Castiel is already taken for the day. Apparently he, Gabriel and Rufus are going in search of some of the Pagan gods Gabriel ran with before he decided to resume his role as archangel. 

In the end, no-one is really happy, but they’re about as prepared as it’s possible to get when dealing with so much unpredictability.

The meeting over, Sam and Jo head out to the makeshift shooting range several hunters have cobbled together, while Bobby rejoins Rufus in the living room, with a never-ending stack of books and Crowley for company. Gabriel wanders off in search of Chuck, which leaves Dean and Castiel standing at opposite ends of the kitchen table, glaring at each other and not saying a word.

Dean can’t even figure out why they’re mad at each other. 

Sure, Castiel went behind his back to summon Crowley, but in the grand scheme of things Dean can kind of understand why he did it. And yeah, the angel was fucking stupid enough to make a deal with a demon - a deal sealed with a fucking _kiss_ , and that’s something that makes Dean want to punch Crowley and yell at Castiel, which is just fucking ridiculous because it’s not like it means anything beyond sealing a goddamn deal-

“I’m going to keep watch.”

Dean’s so caught up in working things out that he barely even registers the distant tone of Castiel’s voice.

“Yeah, I’ll catch up with you later,” he says absently.

When Castiel disappears, the rush of air is stronger than usual, and half the papers on the kitchen table get blown towards Dean.

Castiel must be really pissed.

*****

It takes Dean six shots of whiskey and a three hour glaring contest with Crowley to realise that he’s jealous.

Jealous that Castiel kissed Crowley.

Like he thinks he has a monopoly on who gets to kiss Castiel. Like this is some kind of actual _relationship_ , instead of whatever the fuck it is.

And it’s not even like kissing Crowley is anything but a business arrangement. Like a handshake, only infinitely grosser, and Bobby has done it too so it’s not even a thing between them. Hell, Dean has kissed his share of demons - a fact he likes to forget whenever possible - and he never had any qualms about kissing anyone else afterward. It shouldn’t feel awkward to think that the last person Castiel kissed wasn’t Dean, and it certainly shouldn’t be leaving him with this nagging fear that Castiel won’t want to kiss him again.

It means _nothing_.

Dean is turning into a goddamn woman.

*****

It takes another couple of shots and half an hour of watching Chuck tapping away at his new laptop - provided by Gabriel - for Dean to figure out why Castiel is mad at him. And really, when it hits him, he realises that he’s been kind of a monumental dick.

Dean gets why Castiel had to summon Crowley, but he doesn’t like it. And maybe Castiel gets why Dean is keeping him at arm’s length.

But he obviously doesn’t like it.

With his head full of revelations - and a slight buzz from the whiskey - Dean goes in search of his angel.

*****

Dean finds Castiel outside, leaning against a battered truck with his head tilted back, eyes closed. He looks almost peaceful, and there’s a strange serenity in the air about him that seeps into Dean as he approaches.

“Can’t keep watch with your eyes closed,” Dean says by way of greeting.

Castiel doesn’t move. “I can sense demons before you could see them,” he replies, and Dean winces at the curt edge to his voice.

“Right, yeah, I know that. Not like you to sleep on the job. Sleeping _with_ the job, on the other hand...” Dean raises his eyebrows and grins, but the joke falls flat between them when Castiel gives him a hard, cold glare. “Uh, not that you... I mean, I guess technically I’m not your job anymore.” 

Castiel’s glare doesn’t waver, and Dean sighs. “I’m just trying to make conversation here.”

“You don’t have to waste your time. What do you want?” Castiel says.

Dean flinches, stung. Castiel obviously doesn’t want to talk to him.

“Nothing. Never mind. I’ll leave you to your stargazing.” 

He turns on his heel and starts back for the house.

“Dean.”

Dean stops. He doesn’t turn, but the back of his neck prickles, and he knows Castiel is looking at him.

“I don’t stargaze.” 

Dean glances back and hesitates. It’s impossible to tell from Castiel’s tone if he’s reprimanding Dean further or giving him an opening for conversation. He’s gotten used to Cas being a tangible thing, someone he can touch and talk to, someone he can understand. He forgets, sometimes, that he only has what Castiel allows him to have. 

Right now, Castiel doesn’t seem ready to give Dean anything. He watches Dean patiently, his eyebrows raised slightly in an expression that could either mean ‘say something, dumbass’ or ‘fuck off already’.

Dean starts to turn, then opens his mouth, and for the briefest of seconds, the stoic mask of Castiel’s face flickers. And Dean gets it.

Castiel isn’t trying to push Dean either way. He’s giving Dean the choice, to stay or go. The implications of both options suddenly seem far bigger than Dean is ready to handle.

He turns back toward Castiel. “I thought angels would be all about looking to the heavens.”

Castiel’s smile is faint, but it’s a smile nonetheless. He tilts his head back again, and Dean catches a glimpse of a dark bruise beneath Castiel’s collar - a bruise Dean remembers biting into the smooth skin of his neck just last night. He’s oddly pleased that Castiel hasn’t bothered to heal it.

“The skies hold no mystery to us,” Castiel says. “I could tell you the name of every star and every constellation in the sky.”

Dean smiles. “Bet you can’t.”

Castiel looks back at him, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Is that a challenge?”

Dean’s smile becomes a full-on grin as he walks back toward the truck Castiel is leaning against and climbs up onto the hood. He pats the cold metal beside him, inviting Castiel to join him.

“Maybe,” he says as Castiel climbs up beside him. He lies back, curling his arms beneath his head. “Here, show me Orion’s Belt.” Castiel does so immediately. “Okay, what about Canis Minor?” Castiel shows him. “And the saucepan?”

Castiel’s hand is half-raised before he stops and looks back at Dean. “There is no constellation called ‘the saucepan’,” he says sternly.

“Sure there is,” Dean says. Castiel frowns, and Dean takes pity on him. “See those four stars there? And those three?” He traces invisible lines with his hand, connecting the stars for Castiel to see. “That’s the pan, and that’s the handle. The handle is kinda crooked, because Orion dropped it when he was hunting the bear.”

Castiel is staring at him like he thinks Dean is a few fries short of a Happy Meal. “You made that up,” he accuses.

“Dude, that’s like, the entire point of stargazing,” Dean says happily.

“Oh. I see.”

It’s obvious that he doesn’t, so Dean starts pointing out more made up constellations. The Tree, The Tent, The Really Big Star, and his personal favourite, The Winchester Rifle.

“How do you know it’s a Winchester?” 

“Because Winchesters discovered it.”

Castiel laughs, actually _laughs_ , and Dean reaches out to pat his knee, then gives it a quick squeeze and leaves his hand in place. The silence that follows is almost comfortable, but Dean knows it’s not going to last. They still need to talk.

It might be seconds later, or it could be hours, but eventually Castiel turns his head and says, “Dean.” It’s not a question, but Dean answers anyway.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he confesses into the waiting silence.

“How to do what?”

“ _This_. Whatever this is.” He sighs. “What are we doing, Cas?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel says bluntly. “I don’t exactly have experience with this kind of thing, Dean.”

Dean draws his hand away from Castiel’s knee, feeling inexplicably guilty, but Castiel catches his wrist before Dean can put it somewhere safe. He rises up onto his elbows and looks down at Dean.

“I love you.”

And there it is. The one thing Dean never wanted to hear.

He thinks, deep down, that he already knew. Of course he knew, how could he not? This is exactly what he’s been running from, at the same time as he’s been pushing for it, pulling Cas toward him with every appeal to his humanity, every look, every touch. Castiel’s expression is totally open now, and there’s no fear in his eyes, but no demands either.

“Cas, I can’t-”

“I don’t need you to feel the same,” Castiel interrupts. “You don’t have to love me back. But if you have any feelings for me at all, then just don’t... don’t treat this like it means nothing. Show me some respect. You owe me that much.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean says. “I know I’ve been kind of an ass.”

Castiel shoots him a look that clearly says ‘understatement’, but he also relaxes his grip on Dean’s wrist in favour of sliding his fingers between Dean’s. 

“Did I ever mention how this was a really bad idea?” Dean asks, trying for levity but falling short. “Now is not exactly a good time to be getting attached to people.”

“It’s a little late for that,” Castiel points out. “But you’re wrong. There’s no better time. We all need something to hold on to. Something to fight for. If we didn’t have that, Lucifer would have already won. And besides.” He lets go of Dean’s hand to brush his fingers across Dean’s cheek, then leans down and presses a kiss to Dean’s forehead. “You deserve good things, Dean.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispers as Castiel leans his forehead against Dean’s. He’s not even sure what he’s sorry for anymore. For dragging Castiel down maybe, for letting Castiel fall in love with him, or taking advantage of it. For not being able to tell Castiel how much he needs him, needs _this_ ; for taking so much and not giving back.

Whatever it is, Castiel doesn’t seem to care, because he rolls himself on top of Dean and kisses him again, properly this time, and with a little more force than Dean is used to.

“You need to stop apologising all the time,” Castiel murmurs between kisses.

He’s probably right.

It doesn’t stop Dean from saying sorry one last time, more to provoke Cas than anything, because he kind of enjoys the way Cas growls against his lips when he does, and kisses him even harder. Hands skate beneath Dean’s shirt and a thigh slips between his knees, pressing into his crotch for Dean to buck up against.

“Cas,” Dean pants, after a few minutes of just letting Cas have his way with Dean’s lips. He pushes Castiel away just enough to catch his breath. “Much as I’d love to be doing this right here, it’s kind of out in the open, don’t you-”

Dean feels a familiar spinning sensation as the world lurches around him, and then he’s sinking into the soft sheets of his bed. Castiel resumes kissing him before he ever has the chance to finish his protest.

DIVIDER

_Fireworks illuminate the night sky as Dean drives._

_He doesn’t know what road he’s on, has no idea where it leads, but it seems important that he get there. A sign-post tells him he’s heading for the Cleveland Botanical Gardens, which seems a little odd, but Dean can get behind that. He’s only seen them once before, but they were kinda nice, and maybe Sam will be there._

_Maybe Dad will be there._

_At a crossroads, the sign-post indicates that turning right will take him to Athens, Ohio - where he first met Cassie - and down the road on the left he can see the barn where he first met Castiel. The Garden is straight ahead._

_Dean hesitates._

_A flash of light explodes across the sky, spotlights surrounding him, the harsh, unforgiving screech of an angel’s true voice shattering the windows of the Impala. He clamps his hands over his ears, tries to escape, but he can’t move, and then the scar on his shoulder is burning and-_

“Dean!”

Castiel’s voice is a low, urgent whisper in his ear, his hand clamped vice-tight around Dean’s shoulder as he shakes Dean awake.

Dean sits bolt upright, almost head-butting Castiel, and sucks in several deep breaths, trying to get a bearing on his surroundings. Cas sits up too, the skin of his chest a comforting warmth against Dean’s shoulder.

“Dean? Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean lies. “It was just a dream.” He can practically feel Cas’ frown, and silently begs him to drop it. He doesn’t want to talk about this.

“The same dream?” Castiel asks, because clearly he has no respect for Dean’s need to sleep.

“I think so,” he mumbles. “I still don’t remember much of it.”

“What do you remember?” Cas presses.

Dean is tempted to snap at him and tell him to leave it, but he remembers what Cas told him about this maybe being important, and lets out a long suffering sigh instead.

“Same as always,” he says. “I’m driving down this two-lane blacktop, and I hit a crossroad. Then it all gets kinda fuzzy.”

“Where are you driving to?”

“I don’t know. I just know it’s strange because it’s not some place I’d usually go.”

“Is there anything else? Anything at all? Even the smallest detail could be important.”

Dean shuts his eyes and presses the heel of his hand against his forehead.

“There was..... the crossroad, one of the turns led to Athens. Ohio. The other... I think the other had something to do with you.” He opens his eyes and glances up, but Castiel’s expression is deliberately impassive. It’s kind of a relief, because they may have reached a better understanding over this relationship, but it’s still a little weird to be admitting to dreaming about Castiel.

Castiel, fortunately, doesn’t seem as interested in the implications of featuring in Dean’s dreams as he is in the implications of the other features of Dean’s dreams, because he asks, “Is Athens significant to you at all?”

Dean hesitates. Understanding or not, he’s still not entirely sure he should be discussing past relationships - past loves - with Castiel.

It occurs to him that Castiel can read his mind. The fact that he isn’t, that he hasn’t done so for some time now, is enough to make Dean reconsider hiding anything from him.

“I met someone there,” he explains. “An old girlfriend. She meant a lot to me, once.” Okay, so he doesn’t have to be completely honest. And he feels compelled to add, “a long time ago.”

Castiel gives a short nod, accepting Dean’s explanation without further question. Because apparently Dean is the woman in this relationship; Dean is the one over-thinking everything. Castiel obviously has other concerns.

“Dean, you have to tell Gabriel about this. As soon as possible.”

Dean’s not sure what he was expecting, but it sure as hell wasn’t that.

*****

Fortunately, Castiel at least has the courtesy to wait until morning before he makes Dean speak to Gabriel.

He also has the courtesy to wake Dean with a handjob that leaves Dean thinking he should have tried this whole ‘relationship’ thing a great deal sooner, so all in all, Dean is not as cranky as he normally would have been at the prospect of dealing with Gabriel first thing in the morning.

Well, not _first_ thing, obviously. After Dean jerks Castiel off in return, he takes a shower, and then it takes them a good half hour to get dressed. By the time they’ve made themselves presentable, Dean is starting to feel like a teenage girl. He’s also well on his way to another freakout after catching himself staring at Castiel with open affection while Cas wrestled with his tie, but he ignores the urge to try and push Cas away. 

He’s starting to realise that he _can’t_ push Cas away.

They still manage to make it into the kitchen before most of Singer Salvage Yard has started to stir. Only Sam and Jo are already up.

“Good morning,” Jo says sunnily. “Coffee?”

She holds out a mug for Dean, and Cas declines with a smile and a shake of his head. Jo smiles back, and it strikes Dean for the first time that Cas is really starting to fit in with the strange little family they have here.

“What’s gotten you in such a good mood?” Dean asks, toasting Jo with his own mug.

Jo’s smile doesn’t falter, and she doesn’t answer, but Dean doesn’t miss the way her gaze flickers towards Sam. Even more telling is the sheepish way Sam devotes all his attention to his own coffee mug. 

Dean wonders if he and Cas are as obvious. 

“I’d like a coffee, thank you,” calls a voice from the living room. It takes Dean a moment to place it, but when he does he understands why Jo rolls her eyes and ignores the request.

“Have either of you seen Gabriel?” Cas asks.

“Not yet,” Sam says. “I thought you weren’t leaving until later?”

“We’re not,” Cas says.

“I need to talk to him,” Dean explains.

“He’ll probably come if you call,” Sam says. “Hey, Cas, I never asked - is that like an angel radio thing you guys have when we call you, or is it just a freakishly good hearing thing?”

“A little of both,” Gabriel replies. Sam chokes on his coffee and turns to glare down at the archangel. Gabriel takes a large bite of his doughnut and asks through his mouthful, “so what are we talking about?”

“Uh, I need to talk to you about this dream I’ve been having,” Dean says, feeling nine kinds of awkward under the sudden scrutiny of Sam and Jo.

“No offense kiddo, but I don’t want to hear about what goes on inside that crazy little brain of yours,” Gabriel says.

“Yeah, and normally I wouldn’t want you to know,” Dean says, “but I think this might be important.”

“And what makes you say that?” Gabriel asks as Bobby and Chuck wander into the kitchen.

“Because Cas says it is.”

“How would Cas know?”

“Because I can’t get into it,” Cas says.

Gabriel straightens up and abandons his doughnut.

“Why can’t you get in?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well that’s not good.”

“Which is why I’m telling you,” Dean interrupts.

“What’s the dream about?” Gabriel asks, looking way more serious than Dean is used to seeing him.

As Dean explains, all the humour drains from Gabriel’s eyes. His gaze flickers from Dean to Castiel, and then back to Dean when he asks, “How often has this been happening?”

“Not too often,” Dean says. His spine tingles with unease under the intensity of Gabriel’s gaze. “Maybe once or twice a week?”

To his left, he sees Cas shift slightly and open his mouth to speak, only to hesitate and glance at Dean.

“Yes, Castiel? Something you’d like to share with the class?” Gabriel prompts.

Cas’ gaze remains on Dean, uncertainty in his eyes. Dean gives him a nod.

“It’s closer to three or four times a week,” Cas says.

Sam chokes on his coffee again.

“Are you sure?” Gabriel asks.

There’s another pause, and then Dean decides to bite the bullet.

“He would know. He sleeps with me most nights,” he says.

As Chuck rolls his eyes with a look that says he knows exactly what, besides sleeping, Dean and Castiel have been doing most nights, and Bobby and Jo join Sam in the chorus of coffee-choking, it occurs to Dean that he officially has no more secrets from any of them.

He feels oddly relieved by the thought.

“You can’t seriously tell me that this is a surprise to anyone,” Crowley calls.

Gabriel snaps his fingers, and there’s a muffled yell of protest from the living room.

“What do you think?” Cas asks Gabriel.

“Sounds like the Axis Mundi to me,” Gabriel says.

Cas tenses and nods. “I thought it might be.”

“What the hell is the Axis Mundi?” Dean demands.

“The Axis Mundi is a... a pathway, of sorts, through Heaven,” Castiel explains.

“But I’ve never been to Heaven,” Dean says, then pauses and fixes them both with a suspicious glare. “Have I?”

“No,” Gabriel assures him. “It seems like someone up there has realised that if they can’t get to you, maybe they can make you come to them.”

“I thought they couldn’t get into our dreams?” Sam interjects, looking every bit as worried as Dean feels.

“Come on, Sam, you never heard of an out of body experience? I mean it’s a little more complicated than that, but the principle is the same,” Gabriel says.

“So, what, those sonsofbitches are trying to Freddy Krueger me?”

“Possibly.” Gabriel shrugs. “Whatever they’re trying to do, it involves getting you to the end of that road. My guess is Michael will be waiting there to have a little chat with you.”

“Well I’d very much like for that to _not_ happen,” Dean says.

“Don’t worry. They obviously haven’t managed it so far, and now you know what they’re trying, you’ll be able to fight it off better.”

“Fight it off how?” Bobby demands.

“The same way he has been fighting,” Gabriel replies. “Wake up. Or, you know, fight with whatever you can find lying about up there. It may be heaven, but a little Enochian banishing magic is as effective up there as it is down here.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Dean mutters.

“Don’t sweat it, Dean. You’ll have Cas to watch over you, right, Cas?” Gabriel says, a little levity creeping back into his demeanour as he slings an arm round Castiel’s shoulder and tosses a wink at Dean. Bobby groans, and Jo stifles a laugh as Cas remains stoic, only the faintest hint of pink on his cheeks. Dean suspects he might be blushing a little more obviously as Bobby calls Jo and Chuck away to help load up his van for Chicago, and Gabriel gives Castiel an ‘attaboy’ pat on the shoulder before steering him away in search of Rufus.

Sam stays behind, nursing his half-cold coffee and hovering like he obviously wants to say something but isn’t sure how.

“Spit it out, Sam,” Dean says.

“You’re sleeping with Cas?”

“Yeah. And you don’t have to tell me it’s stupid or whatever, believe me, I know how weird it is.”

“Yeah, I’m not really worried about _you_ , Dean,” Sam says bluntly.

Dean blinks. “Okay. What?”

“I’m happy for you, I think. I mean, if you’re enjoying yourself, then more power to you. I know Cas would never hurt you.”

“Okay, I’m sensing a ‘but’ in there somewhere.”

“But I don’t know if you’d hurt Cas.”

The words hit Dean with all the force and subtlety of a sledgehammer. And he’s kind of offended, but at the same time, it’s nice to know that Sam cares as much about Cas’ wellbeing as he does about Dean’s. It’s weird, but Dean has never shared a - a whatever - with his family before.

“I won’t,” he says. And he means it.

Sam doesn’t seem to notice the conviction in his tone; either that or he’s just getting on a roll because his expression makes Dean think he’s gearing up for a lecture. “Maybe not intentionally, but Dean, I think he loves you, I really do, and you can’t just treat him like you do-”

“ _Sam_ ,” Dean interrupts. He makes sure Sam is really paying attention this time, before he says, slowly and with absolute certainty: “I’m not going to hurt him.”

Sam’s eyes widen. “Wow. I didn’t think - wow, Dean.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Shut up, you big girl.” 

DIVIDER

Dean doesn’t worry about Sam. Sam can take care of himself. Sam is a damn good hunter, and no demon would dare hurt him anyway. If the Chicago mission seems to be taking a little longer than it should have, then of course there’s been a problem, but Sam can handle it.

Sam can take care of himself.

Dean isn’t worried about Sam. He’s sitting in the kitchen with Chuck, Rufus and Castiel, having a celebratory drink to toast Gabriel’s successful negotiations with the Norse gods. 

Okay, so ‘successful’ is something of an exaggeration. They didn’t try to kill Gabriel on sight, which Dean counts as a win under any circumstance, but they weren’t exactly lining up to join Team Free Will either. As far as Dean can tell, the gods won’t ally themselves with angels or humans, but they will fight. What they have is an amnesty of sorts, a ‘live and let live’ policy. The idea of letting Pagan gods go about their business unchecked sticks in Dean’s craw, but it beats the alternative. 

It’s a pyrrhic victory, really, but Rufus and Chuck declare it a win nonetheless, and break out the beers.

So when Dean’s phone rings, he answers it expecting to hear Sam, or maybe Bobby or Jo, informing him of an even more awesome victory.

He doesn’t expect to hear Lucifer greeting him with a simple “Hello, Dean”.

The bottle slips from Dean’s hand and shatters on the kitchen floor.

“Lucifer,” he breathes. 

Castiel is at his side in an instant, and Rufus almost trips over Castiel’s chair in his rush to search out Gabriel. Chuck chokes on his beer.

“How are you, Dean?” Lucifer asks, conversationally.

“You sonofabitch, where’s Sam?”

“I see you still haven’t learned not to trust angels,” Lucifer continues as though he hasn’t heard Dean. “Or perhaps it’s Amitiel who never learned her lesson. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she won’t make the same mistake again.”

“ _Where’s Sam?_ ”

“Come on, Dean, you know I’m not going to hurt him. And he’s not going to hurt Death either, sorry about that. Still, three out of four ain’t bad, and maybe you’ll get another shot at him, hmm?”

“Fuck you-”

“Keep talking like that and you’ll never see any of your friends again.”

Rufus and Gabriel appear beside Chuck, who doesn’t even flinch, his eyes fixed on Dean. Gabriel opens his mouth to speak, but Dean snaps up a hand to silence him.

“What?”

“I have them all, Dean. Sam, Bobby, Jo, Tamara. Even Amitiel, though I doubt you consider her a friend. And I’m willing to let them go. Well, except Sam of course.”

“You’re lying.”

Dean glances at Castiel, who shakes his head minutely.

“Contrary to popular opinion, I don’t lie, Dean. These people are no threat to me, I don’t care if they live or die. You’re the one I want,” Lucifer says.

“Aw, thanks, but I’m already seeing someone,” Dean quips. Castiel squeezes his shoulder warningly.

“I don’t think anyone else can give you what I’m offering,” Lucifer says smoothly.

“And what’s that?”

“A trade. Give yourself up to me and I’ll let Bobby, Jo, Tamara and Amitiel go free.”

Dean glances up at Gabriel. The archangel’s head is tilted slightly to the side, his expression serious as he listens. He frowns slightly, looking as confused as Dean feels.

“Why?” 

“I’m tired of waiting, Dean. Sam will say yes to me eventually, I have no doubt of that, but I’m in no mood to put the entire apocalypse on hold until he does. And there’s only one thing, besides Sam, keeping me from having my run of this world.”

Gabriel raises his eyebrows. “What am I, chopped liver?” he grumbles, startling Chuck and Rufus.

Dean ignores him. “And that’s me?” he asks Lucifer.

“No, Dean, it’s not _you_ ,” Lucifer replies, condescension heavy in his tone. “Michael wants to fight me. He thinks he can win, and he may be right. I’m not inclined to give him the chance.”

Dean swallows, catches Castiel’s eye as he says, “Neither am I.”

“Oh, but you will. You’re weak, Dean. You broke before, and sooner or later Michael will break you again. If you think about it, I’m doing you a favour really. I’m going to make sure Michael can never have you.”

Gabriel’s expression darkens, and Dean knows the anger in his eyes is directed at Lucifer, but it doesn’t make him feel any happier. Neither does the way Castiel’s grip on his shoulder shifts from uncomfortable to downright painful. He reaches his free hand up to try and pry Castiel’s fingers loose, and looks over towards the empty seats that Sam, Bobby and Jo usually occupy.

“How do I know you’ll let them go?” 

Castiel makes a motion like he’s thinking of taking the phone away from Dean, but Dean slides out of his seat and turns his back on the silent occupants of the kitchen.

“My word is my bond, as I’m sure Gabriel can tell you.”

Dean glances over his shoulder at Gabriel, who makes an awkward, non-committal shrug.

“Yeah, he doesn’t look too convinced,” Dean says. Gabriel’s eyes widen, and he glares at Dean like Dean has just personally betrayed him.

“He’s with you now?” Lucifer’s tone takes on an odd, almost emotional quality. Like he actually _cares_ about Gabriel, despite the fact that Dean is pretty certain the next time they meet face-to-face, one of them will die. And Dean’s half-inclined to make some kind of sarcastic comment about it, but then he notices the way Gabriel’s squeeze shut for a moment and he reminds himself that they’re _brothers_. 

Dean will never understand angels, but he can at least understand that much. And fuck if he doesn’t feel the tiniest pang of sympathy for Gabriel right then, especially when Gabriel notices his gaze and offers a tight smile that’s a mockery of his usual carefree grin.

Then Chuck reaches up and awkwardly pats Gabriel’s arm, and Gabriel glances down at him in bemusement, and the moment breaks.

“We’ll get back to you,” Dean tells Lucifer, and hangs up.

He turns back to the others, and there’s a long moment where the only sound is Chuck pouring himself some whiskey, then drinking from the bottle instead of the glass.

Then Dean, Rufus and Gabriel all open their mouths at the same time, and the kitchen erupts into furious noise.

*****

“I don’t fucking _care_ if it’s guarded, that’s the whole point of sending scouts,” Dean shouts. He’s right up in Gabriel’s face, and the only reason he hasn’t yet broken his fist on Gabriel’s jaw is that Rufus has jammed himself between them, and Castiel is still gripping his shoulder, more to restrain than to reassure now. Dean would be pissed at them for getting in the way, but they’re both arguing on his side right now, and doing so a hell of a lot more eloquently than Dean is currently capable of.

“I could send an entire legion to scout the place and it wouldn’t change the fact that we are _not_ getting in there,” Gabriel says heatedly. “Listen to me, Dean, you need to accept this - short of giving yourself up to either one of my brothers, _there is nothing you can do_.”

“And what if I do give myself up? Can Michael get them out?”

“Lucifer will know the second Michael takes you. You’ll never get there in time.”

“And if I turn myself over to Lucifer?”

“He’s a lying sonofabitch! He’s already looking to screw Michael over, you think he won’t screw you over too? If you were an angel, sure, he’d keep his word, but you’re not. Humans mean less than nothing to him, he won’t think twice about breaking any promises to them.”

“And what about you? You’re supposed to be on our side in all this, you’re a goddamn archangel, and you’re telling me there’s nothing you can do?”

“I can’t beat him! If there was something I could do, believe me I would do it. But there’s no way.”

“You were a damn Trickster for two thousand years,” Rufus growls, “and you’re telling us you can’t do a thing?”

“This isn’t me teaching some assholes a well-deserved lesson; this isn’t a game. This is a _war_. Wars have casualties. Your friends knew that when they signed on.”

Rufus shoulders Dean out of the way to face Gabriel full on.

“There were a hell of a lot of casualties before _you_ signed on, too,” he snarls. “Good people. Ellen Harvelle could have been saved if you’d pulled your head outta your ass a little sooner, and now you’re lecturing us about casualties of war?”

“Anna too,” Castiel says, and he and Rufus are still holding Dean back, but Dean can tell it’s as much because they want their share in this now as it is to keep Dean from doing something terminally stupid, like deep-frying their most powerful ally.

Fire sparks in Gabriel’s eyes. “I can’t change past mistakes,” he growls, as the temperature in the room drops a good ten degrees. “And I’m not the only one who made them. Neither Ellen nor Anna would have died if you hadn’t been stupid enough to sign your soul away, Dean. And Lucifer would never have risen if Castiel here hadn’t followed orders like a good little soldier and released Sam.”

Castiel’s hand drops away from Dean’s shoulder, but Dean barely notices, too distracted with trying to break his fist on Gabriel’s face. Without Castiel holding him back, Dean slips Rufus easily and swings, but Gabriel slaps his fist aside with infuriating ease, and Dean would take another shot but Gabriel has already brought his hand back and pressed two fingers to Dean’s forehead.

The last thing Dean feels is Castiel’s hands, strong and steady, catching him before he hits the ground.


	6. Part Six

**PART SIX**

_Fireworks illuminate the night sky as Dean drives._

_He is so not in the mood for this shit._

_He knows this road now, knows where it leads. He passes the sign-post for the Cleveland Botanical Gardens, turns left at the crossroads and heads for the barn where he first met Castiel._

_Inside, Bobby is moving around, painting the place with every sign, symbol and sigil he knows. It’s like some kind of recording, Bobby talking to Dean as though Dean is living the same moment. He ignores it all and heads straight for the table of weapons, snatches up a knife and adds a couple of sigils of his own to Bobby’s artwork._

_The he leans back against the table and waits._

_It isn’t Michael who comes. The angel who approaches Dean is deceptively normal looking - there’s no crackle of power around him like all the other angels Dean has ever encountered. He’s dressed in dark coveralls and looks kinda like Morgan Freeman, and there’s none of the usual angelic arrogance in the way he smiles at Dean._

_“You shouldn’t be here,” he says._

_“Tell your buddies to stop dragging me here then,” Dean says, his hand hovering warily over the banishing sigil._

_“I would if I could, but Michael has a mind of his own, and I’m just a gardener up here.” The angel smiles. “No-one listens to me.”_

_Dean frowns. “Who are you?”_

_“You can call me Joshua. What is it we’re supposed to say? ‘Be not afraid’. I’m on your side, Dean.”_

_“You’re one of Gabriel’s?”_

_The angel laughs. “No. I’m not a part of this. I’m just the messenger.”_

_“Okay,” Dean says. “What’s the message?”_

_“I was told to tell you that the end is almost here,” Joshua says, a look of deep sorrow on his face. “The one who started this will soon finish it.”_

_Dean resists the urge to smack his hand down on the banishing sigil, slamming his other hand down on the table instead._

_“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”_

_“I’m also supposed to tell you that Michael and Lucifer aren’t all that different. They’re still brothers, despite everything.”_

_Dean deeply doesn’t give a shit about Michael and Lucifer, and he’s about to tell Joshua as much when he hears echo-Bobby behind him saying “still say you should’ve told Sam what we’re doin’. He’s your brother, he’d want to be here.”_

_It’s like someone has struck a match in Dean’s head, and used it to light a stick of dynamite._

_The sparks of an idea begin to form, snatches of memories jumping out at him and falling into place in an entirely new shape, one that no-one has even thought to consider._

_Joshua watches him patiently, waiting for Dean to string it all together. Then the roof of the barn begins to rattle, the lights explode in their sockets, the door bursts inwards, and-_

“Dean?”

Dean sits up so fast he almost headbutts Castiel, who’s leaning over him and looking troubled. He’s been laid out on the couch in the front room, and from the kitchen he can hear Gabriel and Rufus still arguing furiously. A couple of hunters are lingering in the doorway, listening to the fight and watching Dean anxiously, but Dean ignores them and jumps to his feet. 

“Dean, are you-” Castiel begins, but Dean heads straight for the kitchen, throws the door open and strides right up to Gabriel.

“Call Michael,” he says.

Gabriel stops, mid-sentence, his mouth hanging open. A hush settles on the room, and Dean can feel all eyes on him as Gabriel’s mouth works for a few seconds before he manages to say, “Are you _crazy_?”

“No, I’m not. Call him,” Dean says calmly.

“Dean,” Castiel says. “ _No_.” Dean turns back to him, giving him a look that he hopes is saying ‘trust me’ and ‘I’m not giving up’ and ‘I have a fucking brilliant plan’.

“Ho, boy, I must’ve hit you way too hard,” Gabriel says. “Did you forget the part where Michael is going to drag your ass outta here and kill anyone who tries to stop him?”

“No he won’t,” Dean says. “He won’t kill you.”

Gabriel flinches. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he says sourly.

“He won’t,” Dean says again, more sure of himself now. “You’re his brother. Call him. Tell him we want to negotiate.”

“And if he’s not interested in negotiating? He won’t leave easy,” Gabriel cautions.

“We can take care of that,” Castiel says.

Dean glances over his shoulder. Castiel is glaring at him like Dean has just personally betrayed him, but his expression is resolute, and Dean trusts Castiel to be able to find a way to get rid of Michael if this doesn’t work.

Gabriel’s jaw tightens. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

*****

Gabriel allows them half an hour to prepare, evacuating everyone from the salvage yard to hide out in Hunterville. Chuck takes a headcount to ensure everyone is there, and Dean tasks him with ensuring they stay there. Then he, Castiel, Gabriel and Rufus gather in front of Bobby’s house. Castiel and Rufus back up, and Gabriel draws his sword.

“Last chance to say no,” he tells Dean, voice heavy with irony.

Dean squares his jaw and clenches his fists.

“Do it.”

Gabriel offers a grimace in response, then turns his face skyward.

“Michael! Get your ass down here, we need to talk.”

He turns back to Dean. Dean stares.

“That’s it?”

Gabriel shrugs. “Simple, but effective,” he says.

Dean has grown used to the sensation of invisible wings when angels appear or disappear close by, but when Michael arrives the disturbance in the air around him is almost powerful enough to knock Dean off his feet.

“Hello, Gabriel.”

Michael’s temporary vessel is a tall, dark-haired man who bears more than a passing resemblance to John Winchester. 

“Mike,” Gabriel drawls. He is dwarfed by Michael’s vessel, and not for the first time Dean finds himself wondering what possessed Gabriel to make his human body so _short_.

“Dean Winchester,” Michael says, turning his eyes to Dean. “I’ve been waiting to speak to you for a very long time.”

“Sorry, I’ve been kinda busy. You know, demons to kill, apocalypses to prevent,” Dean says with a bravado he doesn’t really feel. Michael’s presence is intensely discomfiting, and Castiel and Rufus both look as uneasy as Dean feels. Only Gabriel seems unaffected, his demeanour as cheerful as ever, though his hand tightens on his sword as he steps forward, a subtle warning to Michael that Dean is protected still.

“I don’t suppose you’ve called me here to give up?” Michael asks, his gaze ticking back over to Gabriel.

“Dunno,” Gabriel admits. “Dean here has something he wants to say.”

Dean’s stomach ups and vanishes when Michael turns back to him, raising his eyebrows expectantly, and Rufus and Castiel catch their breath. Castiel’s hands twitch, like he’s thinking of grabbing Dean and taking him as far from Michael as he can, and his eyes are wide and pleading. Dean shuts his eyes and steels himself, then meets Michael’s gaze.

“Take Sam,” he says.

The silence is so absolute that Dean half wonders if he’s gone deaf. Michael blinks and looks towards Gabriel, who shrugs and stares at Dean.

“No,” Michael says, looking back to Dean.

“Because you can’t, or you won’t?” Dean asks.

“I won’t.”

“But you can.”

Michael glances at Gabriel again, but Gabriel’s gaze is still fixed on Dean, and understanding is starting to set in.

“He can,” Gabriel says. “You can,” he adds, turning back to Michael. 

“If I were to take Sam Winchester, there would be no vessel suitable for Lucifer.”

“So what? The only person who cares that you and Lucifer each get a Winchester of your very own, is _you_ ,” Dean says. “Lucifer would sooner kill me than hand me over to you.”

Michael hesitates, and Dean can see a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze.

“We are destined to fight. We have to,” he says.

“Says who? God? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he doesn’t seem to be all that bothered by any of this,” Dean argues. Michael’s expression darkens at that, but Gabriel steps forward.

“Lucifer has taken Sam captive,” he tells Michael. “Along with several of our allies. He’s offering to return them if Dean gives himself up.” Gabriel leans forward to catch Michael’s eyes. “Michael. He’s had a price out on Dean’s head for months. He’s not playing by your rules.”

Michael shakes his head slightly, but Dean can tell Gabriel is starting to get through. “This isn’t how this is supposed to go,” he says.

“I’m pretty sure you weren’t supposed to kick-start the apocalypse at all,” Dean says. “But I’m really quite sick of playing the blame game. So let me put it this way: you can either take Sam, kill Lucifer and win this whole thing, or you can carry on waiting, and carry on hoping that I’ll say yes before Lucifer breaks Sam and kills me.”

Michael’s eyes narrow and he takes a step toward Dean. “And what’s to stop me taking you now?”

Dean smiles. “I wouldn’t try it if I were you.”

Behind Michael, Castiel shifts his hands behind his back.

Michael glares at Dean, and Dean holds his ground and glares right back. Finally, after what seem like hours, Michael blinks and steps back.

“What are you proposing?”

*****

Dean’s plan is simple. Lucifer will kill the others if Michael goes after them, and if Dean goes alone, everybody dies anyway.

What they need is a diversion. Lucifer will no doubt be expecting Dean to try something, but he sure as hell won’t be expecting Michael. So they make a deal, facilitated by Crowley. Dean and Castiel will distract Lucifer long enough for Michael to get to Sam, and in return, Michael will have five days to kill Lucifer and put an end to the war, or lose Sam and wind up back at square one.

It’s an uneasy alliance, with neither side bringing up the question of what happens _after_ Lucifer is killed.

 _If_ Lucifer is killed, Dean doesn’t add. He knows Michael is supposed to be the strongest of the two. But he also knows that it’s not as easy as Michael apparently thinks it will be to kill your own brother. 

All that remains is to inform Sam of the plan. 

They wait until Sam falls asleep, and then Gabriel knocks Dean out and Castiel slips inside his head. Dean meets him by the lakeside. Castiel places a hand on Dean’s shoulder, and the scene twists and shifts around them, and then they’re standing in a non-descript motel room, and Sam is sitting on the bed.

“Dean!”

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean says, struggling to smile. Castiel gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze, then steps back to allow them room to talk.

“Please tell me you’re here to bust us out,” Sam says as Dean moves to sit beside him.

“Kinda,” Dean says. He takes a deep breath and looks Sam in the eye. “But you’d have to say ‘yes’ to Michael.”

Sam is on his feet and halfway across the room before Dean can finish the sentence, but when he registers what Dean has said he freezes.

“ _What_?”

“We can’t bust you out, Sammy. Lucifer has the whole place locked down, but he offered us a deal. If I give myself up, he’ll let the others go. Except he’d double-cross us if we agreed, and then I figured he’ll probably be expecting us to double-cross him anyway, and then I had this dream, and-” he glances up, realises he’s not making much sense, and sighs. “Sam, it’s the only way.”

“And how are you gonna stop Lucifer from killing both of us before Michael can get to us?” Sam asks skeptically.

“Me and Cas have a plan for that,” Dean says with a wry grin. Sam just stares at him.

“Dean, I don’t get it. This whole time we’ve been saying no, and now you want me to give up?”

“No! Not if you don’t want to. We can find another way, figure something out. But we have a deal with Michael if you do, he only gets you for a few days. Crowley set it up, so it’s airtight-”

“Dean, you have gotta stop making deals with demons every time I go missing,” Sam says, but there’s no real reprimand in his voice.

“Hey, I’m not worried about you,” Dean says. “But I don’t want Bobby to bust out crying and ruin his image.”

Sam snorts out a laugh. “So I say yes, you break the others outta here, and then what? Michael has-”

“Five days.”

“-five days to kill Lucifer? And then he just... lets me go?”

“Yeah. Turns out he’s not all that happy that Lucifer hasn’t been playing by the rules. And since you and me aren’t going to either, this is his only chance.”

Sam shakes his head disbelievingly. “I don’t know, Dean.”

“I know, it’s a lot to ask.”

“No, I mean how can you be sure this is gonna work? What if...” Sam hesitates, looking uncharacteristically self-conscious. “What if I’m not... I dunno, compatible? I mean, with the demon blood-”

“Michael’s an archangel, same as Lucifer. It’s really not so different,” Dean says. “I mean, Lucifer wants you for the whole demon blood thing, but for Michael it’s a different requirement.”

“You mean the ‘righteous man’ thing? Dean, I’m not exactly qualified there either.”

“Sure you are. We both are. You’re a Winchester, you’re a hunter, you save people. Hell, you believed in God for a lot longer than I ever did.” Dean can’t help but throw an apologetic glance toward Castiel at that. “And remember the whole prophecy thing? ‘The righteous man who begins it?’ We both qualify for that one.”

“Go us,” Sam mutters, but Dean can tell he’s starting to come around.

“Look, we don’t have much time either way. Cas and I are coming. We’ll do our best, Sam, the rest is up to you.”

Sam lets out a long sigh and nods, and Dean hates himself for putting his brother in this position. He stands and walks back over to Castiel. 

“Hey,” Sam says as Castiel touches Dean’s shoulder again. “Good luck, guys.”

“And you, Sam,” Castiel says. The scene shifts around them again, and when Dean opens his eyes, Michael is watching him with a blank expression. 

Sam wakes in the dismal, windowless room he, Bobby, Jo and Tamara have been bundled into, to find Jo leaning over him.

“Any luck?” she asks as soon as his eyes open. They’ve been sleeping in turns, hoping Dean would be able to convince Castiel or Gabriel to visit them with some kind of plan for escape.

“Yeah. Maybe,” Sam says.

Bobby and Tamara join them with anxious looks.

“Tell me your brother has come up with a way to get us out of here,” Tamara says.

“He has,” Sam assures her. 

“Well great,” Bobby says. “Now tell me it’s not a crazy-ass plan that’s likely to end in getting us all killed.”

Sam raises his eyebrows. “What do you think?”

“That idjit,” Bobby mutters.

Sam tries to smile, but it comes out more like a grimace. He reaches for Jo’s hand and squeezes it, trying to figure out how to tell them what Dean’s plan entails. 

There’s no good way to say it, so instead he settles for pulling Jo into his arms and saying “We just have to sit tight. We’ll be outta here soon enough.”

*****

Dean isn’t particularly thrilled about any part of his plan, but his least favourite is the part where he walks right into Lucifer’s HQ under the pretence of giving himself up, with nothing but the knife in his hand and the Colt in his waistband to protect him. 

Lucifer looks positively delighted to see him.

“Hello, Dean,” he says. “I knew you’d see sense.”

“Yeah, well what I want to see is Sam,” Dean says. “And the others. Alive and unharmed.”

“Of course,” Lucifer says, signalling to a couple of demons. The demons disappear, leaving Dean alone with Lucifer and Meg, back in the meatsuit she’d abandoned to possess him.

“Hey, Deano,” she says.

“Hey, bitch,” he replies. Meg just laughs at him, and he clenches his fist around the knife, wondering if he can get a lucky throw in from here.

Unfortunately, the other demons return before he gets the chance to try, escorting Sam, Jo, Bobby and Tamara. Lucifer snaps his fingers once, and Amitiel appears beside them looking as stoic as ever, but for the wary anger in her eyes when she looks at Lucifer.

“All present and accounted for,” Lucifer smiles. Dean ignores him, catching Sam’s eyes. Sam nods once, and Dean nods back.

“Okay,” he says, and throws the knife. The demons move to block it, but Castiel blinks into existence behind them and stabs the first with his sword, catching the collar of the second and hauling it back long enough for Sam to snatch th knife out of the air and bury it in his captor’s chest.

Lucifer turns toward the commotion, and Dean pulls out the Colt and shoots him in the back of the head. In the same moment, a piercing whine begins to fill the room.

Sam says ‘yes’.

Several things happen in quick succession. Meg abandons ship, vanishing from the room even as the light begins to intensify. Lucifer falls, hitting the ground hard, and Sam looks wildly round at Dean like he thinks, for just a moment, that it really might have been that easy. And then the light floods into him, and Bobby, Jo and Tamara throw up their hands to cover their eyes while Dean watches Michael possess his little brother.

By the time Lucifer is back on his feet, Michael is staring at him through Sam’s eyes.

Castiel pushes Jo and Tamara towards Amitiel, and she blinks out of sight with them. Then he begins to circle the edge of the room, giving Michael and Lucifer a wide berth as he makes his way to Dean. Dean remains frozen, unwilling to move, not wanting to leave Sam to Lucifer. Even though, logically, he knows it’s not Sam he’s leaving but Michael.

Castiel reaches him, and rather than touch Dean’s shoulder, he slides his hand into Dean’s. Dean grips it like a lifeline and tears his eyes away from where Michael and Lucifer stand watching each other, poised to attack at any second. He tucks his face into Castiel’s shoulder instead, and Castiel carries him away.

*****

 _Michael’s presence is like nothing Sam has ever experienced. He has been possessed before, but this is utterly different, both easier and infinitely worse. Michael burns like ice beneath Sam’s skin, the power that sings through him making what he’d gained from the demon blood seem like a mere candle flame held up to the sun._

_But more than anything, Sam feels Michael’s sorrow. It’s an ache deep in his bones and heavy on his heart, crushing Sam with its weight._

_“Michael,” Lucifer says, and Sam can see the pain he feels echoed back at him through Lucifer’s eyes._

_“It’s good to see you, brother.” The voice is Sam’s but the words are not. It feels strange to be nothing but a passenger in his own body, but rather than struggle as every instinct demands, he curls in on himself, trying to escape the crush of Michael’s emotions._

_“And you,” Lucifer says. “I don’t suppose you’ll give me my vessel back?”_

_“I’m afraid not.”_

_“I thought you wanted to play by the rules,” Lucifer says, bitterness filtering into his voice. “You always play by the rules.”_

_“Seems I’m the only one who does,” Michael says._

_“So now we fight?”_

_“Yes.”_

_Neither of them move._

_“I was hoping this day would never come,” Lucifer admits._

_“You knew it would.”_

_“Your doing, not mine.”_

_“I’m tired of waiting.”_

_“You want me dead that bad?”_

_Michael closes Sam’s eyes briefly. “I just want this to be over.”_

_Lucifer sighs and nods. “Very well.” He walks toward Michael, hands held open and empty._

_Michael tenses, raising his sword, every inch the warrior Sam has always heard he is. Lucifer walks right up to him, takes his sword hand and guides it until the tip is pressed over Lucifer’s heart._

_“Do it.”_

_Michael hesitates. Doubt flares hot and bright through every inch of his being, and his hand wavers._

_**No** , Sam thinks, praying that Michael can hear him._

_Whether Michael hears him or not doesn’t matter. Lucifer’s eyes darken and he smacks Michael’s weapon aside and swings, sword in hand. Michael jerks back, faster than Sam would have thought possible, but the blade slices open his cheek. Lucifer falters for just a moment, long enough for Sam to notice the identical mark on Lucifer’s cheek, and then he strikes again._

_Michael ducks, and Sam can feel something curiously similar to panic growing in him. He thinks he gets it - wanting to kill your brother and actually killing your brother are two wholly different challenges - but Michael recovers enough to throw out his empty hand and slam it into Lucifer’s chest. A burst of energy races down Sam’s arm, leaving it feeling oddly numb, and Lucifer is thrown from the room in a flash of light._

_**Not as easy as you thought it would be,** Sam thinks. **Killing your own brother?**_

_“Don’t.” Michael speaks aloud, and Sam wonders if it’s even possible for him to communicate with Sam any other way, or if trying would cause Sam’s brain to melt out of his ears._

_He’s not in any rush to find out._

Michael returns to Bobby’s just minutes behind Dean and the others.

“That was quick,” Dean says.

“He’s not dead,” Gabriel says before Michael can. “Hey, bro. You know, tall guys really suit you.”

Michael glares at Gabriel.

“You couldn’t do it, could you?” Gabriel continues without missing a beat. “I swear, you two are all talk.”

“Enough, Gabriel,” Michael growls.

“No, I think, I’m just getting started,” Gabriel replies.

Castiel leans toward Dean. “This,” he murmurs low in Dean’s ear, “is what home was like.”

Dean almost laughs.

They leave Michael and Gabriel alone in the end. Dean doesn’t particularly care if they end up fighting it out or hugging it out, but he suspects either way they’re going to have a lot to go through before they get there.

*****

Dean is too wound up to sleep, so he ends up pacing back and forward in his room, with Castiel watching from the doorway.

“You really should get some rest,” Castiel observes.

“Can’t,” Dean says. “Besides, I slept when Gabriel did his whammy thing.”

Castiel sighs and moves into the room, stopping just behind Dean as he turns to start pacing the other way, causing him to pace right into Castiel’s chest. Castiel’s hands catch his hips to keep him from moving away, so he steps closer instead.

“Lucifer is coming,” Castiel says.

“Thought he might be.” Dean leans back just enough to look Castiel in the eye. “This is really it, huh?” 

“So it would seem.”

“Last night on Earth.”

Castiel frowns. “Perhaps not. With Michael and Gabriel on our side, we stand every chance of winning.”

Dean hooks his hands into Castiel’s belt loops and pulls him closer.

“That was a line, Cas. This is me trying to seduce you into bed.”

“Oh.” Castiel leans closer, his hands slipping from Dean’s hips to his ass. “Perhaps you should try harder.”

Dean laughs, resting his forehead against Castiel’s shoulder.

“I love you,” he says.

Castiel goes utterly still against him, and it takes Dean a moment to figure out why. Then he realises what he’s said.

“Dean,” Castiel begins carefully. “You don’t have to-”

Dean knows exactly what Castiel is going to say. That he doesn’t have to pretend, he doesn’t have to say it, Castiel won’t mind. He’s going to give Dean an out, a chance to take it back, and Dean cuts him off before he can chicken out.

“I love you,” he repeats, making sure he’s looking Castiel in the eye as he says it. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it, Cas.”

It’s like flipping a switch. Castiel makes a shocked noise and backs Dean into the wall, kissing him hard and fast and dirty as he knows how. Dean lets him, loving this show of Castiel’s strength. Castiel all but tears their shirts in his rush to get them off, grinding up against Dean until Dean gives up and wraps his arms around Castiel’s shoulders, heaving himself up enough to wrap his legs around Castiel’s waist. Castiel quickly gets with the program, his hands catching beneath Dean’s thighs to hold him up. 

Dean’s pretty sure Castiel would be happy to hold him here and rock against him until they both come in their pants, but that’s not what he wants. He pulls away from Castiel’s lips long enough to gasp a ‘fuck me’ into Castiel’s ear. Castiel only groans in reply, but the wall gives way beneath Dean’s shoulders, and then his world flips upside down, and when everything settles back into place he’s on the bed. His legs are still wrapped around Castiel’s waist and Castiel leans over him, pulling back just long enough to seek confirmation from Dean.

Dean nods, reaching for the lube he’s started to keep in the drawer beside his bed, but Castiel beats him to it, reclaiming Dean’s lips as slick fingers skim down Dean’s side, brushing teasingly over his cock before dropping lower. Dean almost bites Castiel’s tongue when the first finger presses in, but he forces himself to relax, yielding to Castiel as best he can.

Castiel takes it slow, working Dean open with one finger, then two, kissing him the entire time. By the time he adds the third Dean is already past caring about any discomfort, rocking back onto Castiel’s hand, but Castiel seems to be in no hurry to move along, twisting his hand and crooking his fingers to find the spot inside Dean that sends sparks shooting down his spine to light a fire in his belly. Only then does Castiel pull his hand back and line up to push in. 

It’s been a long fucking time since Dean has done this with anyone, but his body opens to Castiel far easier than he thought it would, and Castiel slides home in one fluid motion. He moans as he does so, burying his face in Dean’s neck, and Dean cards his fingers through Castiel’s hair, his other hand dropping to Castiel’s ass to pull him in deeper. Castiel waits a moment for Dean to adjust - or maybe so he can get used to the sensation himself - before pulling back and kissing Dean, and starting to move his hips.

Castiel moves in long, sinuous strokes, muscles flexing and undulating beneath Dean’s fingertips as he runs down Castiel’s back. Castiel is everywhere, above and around and inside Dean, hot and hard against him, taking him apart as thoroughly as Dean has ever done to him. Dean arches his back and neck, and Castiel takes it as an invitation to bite down on the skin presented to him. At the same moment he shifts one hand from Dean’s hip to wrap around his cock, and he barely has to touch Dean for him to come, embarrassingly hard and fast. Castiel lets out a strangled groan and falls forward onto Dean, hips working frantically until Dean threads both hands into his hair and lifts his head enough to kiss him again. 

“Come on,” he breathes against Castiel’s lips. “Come for me. Let go, Cas.”

Castiel tenses and jerks above him, and then he’s coming, hot and wet and _so fucking good_ inside Dean.

When it’s over, Castiel collapses against Dean, making an abortive effort to pull out, but Dean stops him. He wraps his arms around Castiel and keeps him in place, loving the rise and fall of Castiel’s chest and the way his breath tickles Dean’s neck. 

He’s pretty sure this is supposed to be the part where he starts to freak out and convince himself that this is a bad idea, that he can’t afford to love Castiel when there’s a very real possibility that one or both of them might die tomorrow, despite Castiel’s optimism.

But it doesn’t come. All he feels is a pleasantly well-fucked tingle through his entire body, and the dizzying sensation that comes from finally admitting his feelings. He’s tried to deny it, tried to pretend that he’s just fond of Castiel, but this is something else, something sharper and exciting, but terrifying at the same time. He doesn’t know if he’s capable of letting himself love someone, but fuck it all, he’s going to try.

And he’s going to stop the fucking apocalypse too. He’s going to kick Lucifer’s ass all the way back to hell, and then, if he won’t go willingly, he’ll kick Michael’s ass all the way back to Heaven.

It’s a pretty good plan, all things considered.

*****

Chuck and Jo sit in the panic room, sharing the last of the beers in companionable silence. Chuck’s laptop sits on the ground in front of them, humming and whirring softly.

After a few moments, Jo sets her beer down.

“Red five goes on the black six,” she says. 

“Oh yeah.” 

Chuck makes the move. 

“He’ll be okay, you know,” Chuck adds after a beat of silence.

Jo drains the rest of her beer. “I know,” she says.

*****

Crowley, Gabriel, Rufus and Bobby sit in the living room, eyeing each other warily.

“Bet five,” Rufus says.

“I’ll meet that,” Bobby says.

“I’ll bet five,” Crowley says, “and raise you five hundred.”

Gabriel raises his eyebrows.

“What? We’re all gonna die tomorrow anyway,” Crowley says.

“I don’t care. Table limit is one hundred.”

*****

Michael stands at the edge of Singer Salvage Yard, staring out into the dark and waiting.

_You know you’re going to have to fight him_ , Sam says.

“I know.”

 _I’m sorry_.

“For what?”

 _Seems to me like you got the worst end of the deal_.

“Yes,” Michael says. “I think you may be right.”

*****

Lucifer stands on the hotel rooftop and stares across the darkness to where he knows Michael waits. Behind him, his demonic attendants linger uncertainly.

Lucifer hates them. 

“Leave me,” he says.

“My lord-” Meg begins.

“I said leave.” Lucifer turns to her. Gently places his hands on her face and wonders at how easy it would be to snap her neck. “Tomorrow, we will end this.”

The demons leave him alone.


	7. Part Seven

Dean wakes to find Castiel leaning over him with a solemn expression.

“It’s almost time,” he says.

Dean nods. It’s strange, but now the day is finally here, he’s ready for it. There’s no last minute panic when he sits up, no fear or uncertainty as he rolls out of bed to head for the shower. 

When he returns, Castiel is dressed and waiting for him.

Dean’s hands are steady as he dresses himself, despite the familiar prickle at the back of his neck that he knows means that Castiel is watching him. He pulls on each item of clothing like it’s some kind of armour, his favourite jeans, a plain black t-shirt and a button-down shirt over it. Finally, Castiel hands him his Dad’s leather jacket; the material is tough enough to have seen him through almost twenty years of wear and tear, and he has every faith that it will last him through today.

Once Dean is fully dressed, Castiel moves to step around him and out of the room. Dean stops him, catching Castiel by the tie and pulling him in for a lingering kiss. Castiel is smiling when Dean finally steps back, and he reaches up to straighten Dean’s jacket.

“You ready?” Dean asks.

Castiel nods.

*****

Everyone is waiting for Dean downstairs, and he hesitates for just a moment when he enters the kitchen to find Sam - Michael, really - standing by the window and watching him with that unnaturally blank expression.

Rufus toasts his entry with a bottle of Johnny Walker, Chuck clicks the save button and closes his laptop, and they all turn to him.

“How long?” Dean asks.

“Half an hour. An hour, tops,” Gabriel replies. 

“Alright. So this is it. This is your last chance to get out of here,” Dean says to the room in general.

Crowley promptly vanishes. Everyone else stays put.

Dean loves them all. 

“This isn’t gonna be pretty,” he says, once he’s sure everyone has made their choice. “There’s not gonna be much time for planning or strategy, but you guys are the best.”

Chuck clears his throat and scratches his beard awkwardly.

“Demons have spent centuries running around and hiding from people like us,” Dean continues regardless. “They’ve dicked us around for long enough, and now, we’re gonna make them regret ever messing with us.”

As far as inspirational speeches go, he figures it could probably use some work, but everyone nods solemnly, and they look as ready as they’ll ever be.

“We meet them outside,” Dean says. “A front line to hold them off, a reserve line to remain in this house and provide covering fire. Reserves will also be responsible for keeping up weapon supplies, and if anyone goes down, you get ‘em into the panic room. Gabriel, I want an angel down there at all times to protect and defend the place.”

“You got it.”

“Bobby, I want you in charge of the reserve.” Dean pulls the Colt from his waistband and passes it to Bobby. “Keep us covered, yeah?”

Bobby nods.

“Jo-”

“I’m fighting,” Jo says. “I don’t care what you say, I’ve got as much reason to be out there as anyone, and I can take care of myself.”

“I know,” Dean says. “I want you and Rufus to cover the left.”

Jo straightens up in her seat. “Oh. Consider it done.”

“Cas, you and I will take the right. And-”

“Where do you want me?”

Dean turns. Crowley is leaning against Bobby’s desk in the living room.

“Thought you’d be halfway to Australia by now,” Dean says.

“And miss the fun? Nah. I just went to pick up some reinforcements.”

Dean raises an eyebrow and looks pointedly around Crowley.

“Invisible reinforcements?”

Crowley reaches out and pats something around chest height.

“You could say that. There’ll be hounds with the demons, but don’t worry. Mine’s bigger.”

Hellhounds still scare the shit outta Dean, and he actually catches himself trying to back away from the invisible beast. He stops, swallows hard, and nods.

“Okay then. You do whatever the hell it is you do.”

Crowley smirks.

Dean turns back to the occupants of the kitchen. 

“Okay. And Michael?”

Michael turns to him, fixing him with a look that seems utterly alien on Sam’s face.

“I won’t hesitate again,” he says.

Dean nods. “Then get to it. And take care of yourselves out there. If any of you die, I’ll kill you myself.”

Hunters and angels begin to disperse. Michael remains still as a statue in the corner of the kitchen, and Dean is about to address him when he finds himself facing an unusually calm and collected Chuck.

“You didn’t give me anything to do,” Chuck says.

“Put your laptop in the panic room and guard it with your life,” Dean says.

Chuck nods and starts to leave. Then he stops and turns back to Dean. 

“Hey, Dean? I just wanted to say, it’s been an honour. Being your prophet.”

“Uh, thanks, Chuck.”

“And I just wanted you to know that I’ve cut all the full-frontal stuff from the books. From now on, it’s all just tasteful fade-to-blacks. I know you were worrying about that.”

Dean puts his hands on Chuck’s shoulder and looks him square in the eye.

“Thank you, Chuck. Now don’t _ever_ bring that up again.”

Chuck lets out a nervous laugh and scurries off, leaving Dean alone with Michael.

“Dean.”

“I really doubt there’s anything you can say that I want to hear.”

“Sam asked me to wish you luck.”

Dean grits his teeth and turns back to Michael. “You know I don’t give a crap who wins or loses between you and Lucifer. But I swear to whoever the fuck is listening, you had better give me back my brother when this is over, or I will find a way to rip you out of there.”

“Would it be any consolation if I said I understand how you feel?”

“Probably not,” Dean says.

But after Michael leaves, he thinks it actually kinda is.

Lucifer doesn’t attack with the first wave.

The first attack is made up purely of infected humans, bloodthirsty and crazed and no match for the seasoned hunters and angels who fight them. They drive back the attackers with little trouble and few casualties, everyone long since vaccinated against the Croatoan virus thanks to Gabriel and Rufus. Some of the hunters on Dean’s side celebrate the easy victory, but Dean knows better.

“They’re just testing us,” he mutters to Castiel, who stands at his side. Castiel tugs at the sleeve of his trench coat, and on anyone else Dean would have told them to get rid of the damn thing a long time ago, but he’s seen Castiel fight in that trench coat, and knows it won’t hinder him.

“Lucifer was one of the best strategists in Heaven,” Castiel says. “This won’t be easy.”

“That’s real comforting, Cas, thanks,” Dean says.

Castiel turns to Dean.

“You are the best leader humanity could have hoped for,” he says. “We’re going to win.”

Dean’s throat feels oddly tight as he smiles at Castiel.

“Better,” he says. Castiel inclines his head slightly, with a small but genuine smile, and Dean reaches for his hand.

The second attack comes a few moments later.

*****

Lucifer pushes them throughout the entire morning, sending wave after wave of infected humans and demons to test their defences. Dean knows that Lucifer is learning from each attack, building his strategy for the final, decisive push. He only hopes that they can learn from their mistakes in the process.

At noon, Lucifer calls back his forces, and walks into Singer Salvage Yard.

Nobody tries to stop him, no-one is stupid enough to attack. Lucifer walks right up to Michael, and for a long, long moment, nobody moves.

Then Lucifer strikes, and Michael blocks, and the sound of their blades meeting sets everything in motion.

Light flares out across the area as more angels appear, all of them on Lucifer’s side. 

Castiel lays his hand on Dean’s shoulder for a moment, and then he’s gone, taking flight and rallying Gabriel’s angels to him. Dean has no idea how to tell friend from foe, but he trusts his angels to deal with Lucifer’s. 

Demons and the infected swarm in after the angels, and Dean steels himself to meet them.

*****

This will be the last time Castiel faces his kind with a drawn weapon. He has never been much of a warrior, not like Uriel once was. But he has an advantage over them now.

His brothers are fighting for Lucifer, fuelled by a hatred of humanity. Castiel is fighting for something so much bigger. He twirls his sword in his grip and readies himself.

The first blow comes from one of Uriel’s former colleagues. His brothers hiss insults and accusations of betrayal as they battle against him, but Castiel ignores them all. His brothers are fast, but Castiel is faster. They are strong, but he is stronger. He will not die here today, not when there is so much still to fight for.

He kills the trio that attack him, and moves on to the next skirmish.

*****

The Beast is unexpected. Gabriel wasn’t there when John wrote Revelation, having already skipped out on Heaven, so he missed the initial story. Hiding out as a Pagan god kept him fairly out of the loop for the better part of a thousand years, and when he finally did pick up a Bible, the writing was so tedious, stuffed so full of mix-ups and outright lies, that he never made it past the third book.

So, yeah, Gabriel didn’t really study up on the apocalypse. He knew the basics, of course. Knew his brothers were going to have to fight, but beyond that he was pretty much in the dark, and he didn’t particularly care to find out much more. Watching them fight back home had been bad enough, he didn’t want to know about their epic future battle.

He’s picked up a few things from working alongside Bobby and Rufus too, so he does know that there’s a beast somewhere in the book of Revelation. It just didn’t occur to him that ‘beast’ actually meant _beast_. So much of Revelation is metaphor or confusion or just plain inaccurate - the Whore of Babylon wasn’t a whore, the four horsemen drive classic American cars, Gabriel didn’t get name-checked once in the whole book - but this, apparently, was spot on.

Someone had told him that the Whore of Babylon had used words and false prophecy to sway people to her side, but the Beast’s power works differently. Hunters lay down their weapons in the Beast’s presence and let the infected overrun them, or else they turn on their fellow hunters. Gabriel’s troops are stretched near breaking point protecting humans from themselves.

He sees its influence trying to creep into Dean Winchester’s mind, Dean halfway to turning his blade on Tamara before Castiel catches his wrist, pulls him back and presses his hand to Dean’s shoulder. Gabriel can sense the spark of grace that passes between them. Normally he’d be coming up with some kind of wisecrack or innuendo about it, but not today.

Today, Gabriel is an archangel, and a warrior of Heaven. And he has things to kill. 

*****

Castiel doesn’t pause after freeing Dean from the Beast’s influence. He throws himself straight back into the battle, and Dean wants to yell after him to be careful, or some equally girly shit, but he’s kinda distracted by the gang of demons that advance on him.

“Dean Winchester. Long time, no see,” the first one growls.

“I’m sorry, pal, but I’ve met a lot of demons,” Dean says.

“I wasn’t a demon when you met me.” 

It’s something Dean has dreaded hearing ever since he got out of Hell. But now that he finds himself faced with it, the guilt isn’t as crippling as he always thought it would be. He will never forget, never forgive himself for what he did, but he’s done beating himself up over it.

If there’s one thing he’s learned from the people around him, it’s that nobody is perfect. Sam broke the final seal, Chuck is an alcoholic, Castiel allowed the angels to facilitate the apocalypse and Gabriel is an obnoxious ass who’s killed countless humans. None of them are paragons of good. Team Free Will is a motley crew of misfits, criminals, monsters and murderers.

Who better to defend the human race?

Dean shifts his grip on the knife in his hand, and dispatches every demon that comes at him with brutal efficiency. He spins on his heel in search of the next fight, and sees Jo facing off against Meg a short distance away.

He calls her name, and throws the knife. Jo glances toward him and catches it, turning back to Meg with a smile.

*****

Jo finds herself facing Meg over the hood of a beat-up old truck. She’s only seen the demon in this form for a few minutes, when they were taken captive and when they were rescued, but Sam had filled in the blanks.

Jo knows this demon. She _hates_ this demon.

Meg gives her a slow, lazy smile. “Well hey again, you.”

“And you,” Jo says dryly. 

The nearest unbroken devil’s trap is twenty feet away. Jo’s shotgun is fresh out of rounds, and the only good weapon she has is her father’s knife.

Then she hears Dean calling out to her and turns, just in time to see a knife flying through the air toward her.

The last time Dean offered her a different knife, Jo had rejected him in no uncertain terms. This time, she snatches it out of the air and whirls back to face Meg with a smile.

Meg’s own smirk doesn’t falter when she sees the knife, but she does back up a step, and Jo hears a low growling sound. She tightens her grip on the knife and takes a wary look around, searching for any sign of invisible Helldogs. The growl becomes a snarl, which becomes a chilling bark, and she hears the scrabble of paws in the dirt as the thing launches itself at her.

Then she hears the heavy whump of flesh on flesh, and the crunch of metal as the beast is sent flying into the nearby truck. From somewhere behind her, Jo hears Crowley bellow ‘Good boy!’, and she’s not one to trust a demon usually, but right now Crowley is by far the very least of the evils in Singer Salvage Yard.

She turns back to Meg, whose smile has finally dropped slightly as Jo advances. A few feet away she can hear what she seriously hopes is Crowley’s Hellhound tearing Meg’s to pieces. She could be wrong, of course, and the dog could be coming for her at any moment, but if this is it for her, then Jo is damn well going to take Meg with her.

The fight is short and savage, and it ends with Jo burying the knife in Meg’s chest. Meg stares up at her in shock, and Jo twists the knife free before Meg can fall.

That’s when the second hound blindsides her.

*****

Chuck scrambles through the fray, heading straight for Jo. Bobby had seen her go down, but all his gunmen are busy and the angels are occupied, which means it’s up to Chuck to drag her back into the house and down to the safety of Bobby’s panic room. 

A demon gets too close, and Chuck smashes his bottle of holy water into its face. He reaches Jo, screwing up his nose and trying not to vomit at the smell of Hellhound corpses littered about. Chuck gathers Jo into his arms as best he can, silently marvelling at the fact that he can actually pick her up - though whether that’s a sign of his own strength being greater than he thought or Jo simply being even smaller than he realised he’s not quite sure - and races back towards the house. 

When an infected human tackles him to the ground, Chuck is absolutely certain that he’s about to die. But he lands on Jo’s arm, and Jo still has the demon-killing knife in her hand. He fumbles for it as the man tries to drag him back, clumsy fingers closing around the hilt just before it slips out of his reach, and he swings wildly.

The blade slices clean through the other man’s throat, and Chuck doesn’t waste a second to scramble to his feet and scoop Jo back into his arms. 

He failed Ellen Harvelle. He won’t fail her daughter.

*****

Bobby sees Chuck carry Jo through the door and toward the basement, and he spares a moment to shout a ‘Good job’ to the guy. Chuck, out of all the people in this shitstorm, is the only one who was here against his will. But he chose to stay, despite having no training and no archangels left to protect him. Bobby has a whole lot of respect for that kind of idiot.

Chuck reappears a minute later, the demon killing knife clenched tight in his hand.

Bobby has never been a believer in things like fate or destiny, but he’s a huge fan of coincidence. Not half a minute after Chuck rejoins them, the Colt runs out of bullets, and just as Bobby is trying to reload it, a demon comes crashing through the window and tackles him to the ground.

It gets its hands round his throat pretty damn quick, and Bobby barely has time to shout ‘knife!’. It comes out more like ‘nirf!’, but Chuck gets it anyway, sending the knife skidding across the floor toward him. He snatches it up and plunges it into the back of his attacker’s neck. Blood sprays across his face and chest, as the thing collapses, but it’s nothing he hasn’t dealt with before. He shoves the corpse off himself and struggles to his feet.

“I’m too old for this shit,” he grumbles as he searches for the Colt. Chuck hands it to him, along with a fresh load of bullets.

“Thanks, son.” Bobby pulls the knife out of the corpse beside him and hands it back to Chuck. “Any chance you can get this back to someone who needs it?”

“Yeah, of course,” Chuck says.

Bobby watches him go. They’ll make a hunter out of Chuck yet.

*****

Rufus finds himself pinned down by infected humans, back to back with a hunter he barely knows but trusts completely, because right now they’re the only thing keeping each other alive.

He used his last bullet about three dead guys ago, and he can see another hunter battling toward them with freshly loaded guns, but he’s not coming fast enough. Nowhere near fast enough, because Rufus has just lost his knife, lodged deep in the spinal cord of another dead guy.

Someone lunges at him, and he throws out a solid punch and knocks him back, but there’s another guy right there to replace the first. Rufus lands a kick square in his stomach, and then a third guy is there and Rufus almost knocks his head off his shoulders, before he realises that it’s Chuck, frantically waving a knife in his face.

“Figured you could use this,” Chuck says.

“Boy you really are a prophet,” Rufus says, seizing the knife and using it to cut down the guy who’d been about to gut Chuck.

“Yeah, I know,” Chuck pants. “It sucks ass.”

He kneels and liberates Rufus’ knife from the corpse at his feet, and then he’s off and running again, ducking and diving past battling humans, angels and demons. He almost makes it back to the house when a shockwave from Lucifer knocks him from his feet. He doesn’t get back up.

*****

Lucifer recovers fast from Michael’s first attack. Battle rages round them, but Lucifer doesn't care about anyone but Michael.

He can tell Michael is still holding back. In his vessel - _Lucifer’s_ chosen vessel - he has the advantage, but he seems unwilling to use it. And Lucifer has had longer to grow used to fighting in this form.

When Gabriel slays the Beast, Lucifer feels it, and he knows Michael is the only one he _must_ kill, but he thinks he might kill Gabriel too for his defiance. It has taken Gabriel over two thousand years to choose his side, and for him to choose the humans is an insult Lucifer cannot overlook.

He sees Dean Winchester fight off his demons; sees the traitor, Crowley, setting his hound on Lucifer’s own; sees the prophet evade attack, and he wishes a long, painful death on all of them.

Michael strikes, and his blade opens a long, thin line across Lucifer’s forearm. Lucifer glares at the human blood that escapes the wound, and his anger boils over. He throws out his hand and channels thousands of years of pent-up anger into his attack. The shockwave catches Michael by surprise, sending him flying across the yard and knocking his sword from his hand. Lucifer flies after him, stepping on Michael’s sword arm, then kneeling on his throat.

“Lucifer,” Michael chokes out, but Lucifer is done listening to him. There will be no more hesitation, no more second chances or last-minute reprieves. He presses his blade to Michael’s chest.

*****

Dean sees Lucifer throw Sam across the yard and flit after him. Michael’s sword rolls toward him as Lucifer raises his blade to deliver a killing blow.

He sees Lucifer prepare to kill both of their brothers, and moves with a speed he would never have thought possible. He snatches up Michael’s fallen sword and runs. 

The blade flashes down. 

*****

Lucifer chokes on a sob when the sword strikes home.

Michael’s eyes fly open, and Lucifer can see him, his brother without the human skin. Michael reaches up and presses a hand against Lucifer’s scarred cheek, and he recognises it as a gesture of forgiveness.

Lucifer jerks back, refusing it, and hating the hurt in Michael’s eyes. Turning, he sees Dean Winchester standing beside him, eyes wide with shock.

“You?” Lucifer gasps. “How?”

Michael rises to his feet and catches Lucifer as he stumbles.

“You always did underestimate them,” he says, holding Lucifer as light begins to stream from his eyes and mouth. His grace is fracturing, flying apart, and Lucifer shudders in Michael’s arms.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

It takes just a few short minutes to end the battle after Lucifer dies. Some of his followers turn tail and run, others fly into a rage and make themselves easy targets.

Michael and Gabriel take Lucifer’s vessel and vanish for several hours in the aftermath, as Dean and Castiel pick their way through the wreckage, taking a final casualty count. 

Eighteen hunters and twelve angels have died. Crowley is somehow intact, and he gives Dean a mocking wave from the edge of the battlefield before disappearing. Rufus has taken a knife to his thigh and lost a couple of fingers, Chuck is concussed but conscious, and Bobby is relatively unharmed.

Jo’s condition is critical when they get to her in the panic room, but Castiel presses his fingers to her forehead and she wakes instantly.

“Did we win?” she asks immediately.

“Yeah,” Dean says. “We won.”

*****

When Michael and Gabriel return, Dean is waiting for them.

The rest of the hunters have already broken out the whiskey and tequila, and there’s something of a post-apocalypse party under way in Hunterville. Only Chuck, Jo, Bobby, Castiel and Dean remain.

“I’m only going to say this once,” Dean says as soon as the archangels appear. “If you think this means you get to claim this planet for your own entertainment, you can fuck right off. We don’t want your Paradise.”

Gabriel clears his throat. “Since, technically, it was a human who made the killing blow, I think it’s safe to say this one is a win for humanity,” he says.

“And I want Sam back,” Dean continues. “ _Now_.”

“My pleasure,” Michael says, and he sounds almost sincere. He glances down at Sam’s body. “Thank you, Sam,” he murmurs.

There’s a blinding flash of light, and then Sam’s body crumples to the floor.

“Sam!” Dean cries, rushing forward.

“Relax, Dean, he’ll be fine,” Gabriel says. “He just needs some time to recover.”

Dean ignores him and checks for himself that Sam is still breathing. Then he looks back up at Gabriel.

“So what happens now?” 

“Now? Now you break out the whiskey and the tequila and you celebrate. You got what you wanted, Dean! Lucifer is gone, hell is in disarray and the legions have been decimated. Plus, I think it’s safe to say you’ve turned heaven upside down too. You realise I’m going to have to take my job back, thanks to you?”

“My heart bleeds for you,” Dean says.

“Your concern is touching. There’s just a few things we need to clear up, and then I’ll be getting out of your hair too. First: Crowley. Don’t kill him. He may be an evil, conniving scumbag of a demon, but he’s by far the lesser evil conniving scumbag of a demon.”

“Better the devil we know?” Bobby says.

“Bingo. Second: Chuck. You can sleep easy, buddy, you’re off the hook. Once you finish writing up this final battle that is, and be sure to pay special attention to how awesome I was. Third: Castiel.”

Dean feels Castiel go tense beside him.

“Where do I even start? Disobeying orders, choosing a human over heaven, binding yourself to human form... Short of actively siding with Lucifer, I don’t think there’s a rule you haven’t broken.”

“Hold on a minute,” Dean says. “Cas was the only one of you assholes who did the right thing in all this.”

“Yes, and that’ll be a good defence for him, but the fact remains that he wasn’t thinking of doing the right thing when he rebelled.” Gabriel’s gaze softens slightly as he looks at Castiel. “Let’s just say your motives were less than pure.”

“I understand,” Castiel says.

Dean stares at him incredulously.

“You _understand_?”

Castiel shifts uncomfortably and doesn’t meet Dean’s eyes.

“You won’t be punished,” Gabriel continues. “Dad knows it wouldn’t be fair to punish you after everything you’ve done. But you need to come home.”

“Cas, no,” Dean says, but Castiel is moving away from him.

“Dean, I have to report back. If I don’t, I’ll be a fugitive all over again.”

Dean wants to argue, can feel the words on the tip of his tongue, but they get tied up in his old fears and doubts, and he can’t bring himself to say it. Castiel has given up everything for Dean, and now he has the chance to go home. How can Dean deny him that? He can’t, and he won’t, ask Castiel to give up anything else for him.

He loves Castiel. So maybe he should let him go.

“Well,” Gabriel says. “This has all been very exciting. I hope we’ve all learned something here, I know I have.” He claps a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “Take care of yourselves, boys and girls. We’ll be watching.”

And he disappears, Castiel in tow.

There’s a long beat of silence.

“So,” Jo says. “We won.”

“I guess we really did,” Bobby says.

Chuck cracks open a beer and takes a long drink, then moves to help Bobby and Jo carry Sam up to his room.

Dean is left alone. 

Three weeks after the world doesn’t end, Dean is working on the Impala when he hears the familiar rustle of wings. 

“Hello, Dean.”

He doesn’t turn around.

“Cas. What are you doing here?”

“I came to tell you I’ve been restored. I can return to my garrison.”

“Oh.” Dean swallows around the tightness in his throat. “That’s... that’s great. I mean, that’s good, right?”

“I suppose.” Cas’ tone is slow, guarded.

Dean hesitates for a moment, tightening his grip on the wrench he’s currently holding before slamming it down in frustration. 

“Is it though?” he demands, turning to face Castiel. “Seriously, Cas, after everything that’s happened, do you really want to go back?”

Cas doesn’t quite meet his gaze.

“I have other...options,” he says, carefully. “Heaven is a mess right now. Gabriel and Michael are trying to create reform, but they can agree on nothing.” He pauses, smiles, almost fondly. “They are brothers, after all.”

Dean is surprised into smiling at that, his gaze flicking back towards Bobby’s house, where Sam is still playing the invalid for all he’s worth while Jo nurses him back to health. Singer Salvage Yard seems unnaturally quiet now that the hunters have moved on, and while Dean finds himself almost missing the chaotic hum of activity, he certainly doesn’t miss the fights and the arguments that had become daily occurrences.

“Gabriel has offered to... second me... to his legion,” Castiel continues, tentatively. “He has assumed charge of the Earth. I would be reassigned to assist in cleaning up the remaining demons and demigods that ran free during the apocalypse. I’d be under his command and I’m sure he’d find ways to... but I would be here. As long as it’s deemed necessary.”

And Dean understands what Castiel isn’t saying. Gabriel may be an ass, but in his own uniquely self-centred way, he actually seems to care about Cas and the Winchesters. Or at least he respects their stubborn advocacy of free will. Dean doesn’t doubt that Gabriel would find ways to stir things up occasionally - old habits are hard to break - but it’s as close to freedom as Cas is ever likely to get.

“So that’s it? You can be Heaven’s bitch or Gabriel’s? Can’t you just-”

“What? Fall?” Cas sighs. “If I fall, I will die. Not immediately,” he adds at Dean’s expression, “but mortality is temporary. And once my time is up, there’s only one place I could go.”

Dean releases a breath and leans back against the Impala.

“But if you accept Gabriel’s offer?”

“If I accept Gabriel’s offer, I can stay here on Earth.” Castiel hesitates. “With you. If you want me. It’s not perfect, but it’s all I can offer. I would understand if that’s not what you want.”

He’s wearing that stoic face that Dean has come to hate, the one that means he’s feeling something huge and terrifying, and repressing it. It terrifies Dean that he knows what it means this time, that he knows exactly how Castiel is feeling because he’s been feeling it too, these past three weeks spent not knowing if there is a future for them. If whatever this thing is between them can survive without the stress of the apocalypse pushing them together. He loves Castiel, but he’d loved Cassie too, and he knows that love isn’t always enough. Dean is rapidly coming to realise that having an entire life to live is far more difficult than facing death every day.

“Cas,” he begins, then stops, unsure of how to go on. Castiel has drifted closer to him, but he’s still keeping a respectable distance from Dean, and Dean pushes away from the Impala, closing some of that distance. “I don’t know what I want,” he admits, slowly. “I don’t know how to do this.”

Cas nods. “I’ve lived for thousands of years, Dean, but you are the first being I’ve ever loved.” He takes a tentative step forward. “I don’t know how to do this either.” He reaches one hand out to rest on Dean’s hip, slides the other up over the mark on Dean’s shoulder. “But we can make it up as we go.” 

And it’s not a guarantee, nothing like it. Dean has no idea if they can do this, if they can really have this. It’s not perfect, far from it, but it’s more than he could ever have hoped for, and it’s what he _wants_. 

He closes the space between them and kisses Castiel, hard and fast.

“Stay,” he whispers against Castiel’s lips.

“Yes,” Castiel breathes in reply, pressing Dean back against the Impala. Dean wraps his arms around Castiel’s shoulders and pulls him in close, and for the first time in a long time, he is not afraid of what the future holds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character deaths: Ellen and Anna both die in this fic. Also, Zachariah, Lucifer, and Meg, but I don't think anyone cares as much about them. ^_^


End file.
